


Laws of Motion

by hanwritessolo



Series: The Science of Us [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crowe Altius Deserves Better, Crowe Lives AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Humor, Luna goes on a girls trip, Mild Smut, Mystery, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Game(s), Psychological Trauma, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 141,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: Fate has weaved the lives of three different people as they traverse the bustling city of Insomnia, all amidst the perpetual state of limbo between order and chaos. Gladiolus Amicitia, Shield to the Crown Prince, tries to lead a normal life outside the shadow of his sworn duties and his noble name. Nyx Ulric, Kingsglaive’s very own acclaimed hero, struggles to find a way to save whatever remains from his war-torn home. And Briony Clark, a greenhorn glaive with no title to her name, bravely joins the fray to quench her thirst for revenge against the Empire, with hopes to find some answers on the disappearance of her foster mother.With the illusion of peace hanging by a thin thread and their stories intricately entwined, life demonstrates a science that knows no commoner, soldier, nor nobility.





	1. Briony Clark

Seeing the massive towers of bookshelves was enough to draw out the biting regret that Briony pushed down the pits of her memory a few days back. After careful deliberation of her circumstances, she had ultimately decided to quit her part-time job at the Citadel library. It was a tough decision on her part, to be sure. But considering that she had been finally deemed worthy to join her fellow Glaives in the battlefield three days ago, Briony knew she had to give up her tiny source of solace in exchange for all the efforts she exerted in her Kingsglaive tenure.

Full disclosure: Briony absolutely loved working at the Citadel library. She swore it upon any given Astral’s name. She loved books, and she found tremendous comfort working with every page and spine available at her disposal. It reminded her of her mother, and the taste of all the good days that once was. Between the two jobs she had to juggle, her work at the library gave her a much needed breathing room in the ruthless city that was Insomnia. Crowe and Libertus claimed it was not that bad once she got used to the stench, but she never found herself easing into the city life. If she weren't too bent on raising hell against the Empire for taking her mother, she would have gladly stayed at the job. Heck, she would have accepted Johanna Valens’ offer for a full-time post had she ever decided to give up on her reckless Kingsglaive dreams. But Briony’s love for books was equally matched with her love for her deeply-rooted anger against the Empire; she nursed her need for vengeance and cared for it, tended for it in the garden of her raging heart.

Besides, she could not even begin to think about discarding all the gallons of blood, sweat, and tears that she had to shed in her early years as an initiate.

For the past two years, while her nights were saved for library work, Briony spent most of her days in the confines of the Kingsglaive training hall, perfecting a hundred warp strikes and casting thousands of fire spells. On weekends, Cor still put her up in the training regimen that she accepted when he adopted her and took her under his care. If she was being honest, she hated every second of it. She knew that fighting wasn't her forte; but she knew, too, that in order for her to survive this cruel world, she had to adapt and prove to herself that she could find a way to deliver retribution to those who have wronged her, even if it meant going against her very nature.

Despite her hard work and significant progress as the years went by, Briony was never deployed in battle, in which she found a quiet relief. Drautos only awarded her with medic duties, which she happily obliged. But when Drautos witnessed her saving Nyx Ulric’s ass from a prank gone wrong, her comfort zone was compromised. Ultimately, that quiet relief dissolved when she was finally reassigned to the frontlines—a feat she somehow proudly celebrated, yet one she begrudgingly accepted all the same.

Nevertheless, Briony made her choice. She decided that she shall make her peace with it, one way or the other.

Though she cannot deny this: she would sorely miss the perks of reading to her heart’s fullest content without being charged of the non-Insomnian library fee.

Briony scanned through her updated checklist on her phone: _Surrender library uniform ASAP_. Sub-bullet point: _Check if I can still visit the library for free_. She particularly remained hopeful at the last one.

Keeping her fingers crossed, she began to aimlessly wander around the library foyer, stalling for time. It was a strangely quiet evening: rows of desks soulless, black leather couches empty. From afar, she spotted Johanna, her graying head framed by a stack of books sitting neatly on both sides of her station.

Johanna Valens was the head librarian, and effective immediately, Briony’s ex-boss. She was a fierce woman in her sixties wielding a scorching tongue and yet armoured with a gentle spirit all in equal measure, who oddly reminded Briony of the only mother she had ever known. Just like Johanna Valens, Candela Clark was a firm believer that books were sacred objects and that a library was holy ground.

Initially, Briony was only expecting to see Johanna all by her lonesome, her glasses perched in her crooked nose, her sharp blue eyes keen into focus. But a gargantuan man in a sleeveless green top and khakis with the image of some feathered animal tattooed across his back also happened to be present; it was the unmistakeable presence that could only be from one Gladiolus Amicitia, and he was casually leaning on Johanna’s right side of the counter.

Which reminded Briony of another matter of importance: she also needed to discuss some pressing concerns with Gladio.

A few meters before she reached Johanna’s front desk, Gladio tilted his head to face her. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite Cupcake.”

“Don’t call me _that_ ,” she retorted. Most people believe that true friends acknowledge each other’s weaknesses. For Gladio, calling Briony that horrendous nickname was his endearing way of reminding her that her five-foot-flat ass would need a ladder should she ever need to talk to him face-to-face.

“Finally!” Johanna beamed, her voice sweet with relief. “I’ve been waiting for some amiable company! I’m far too old and tired to be tolerating this man over here.”

“You wound me, my lady.” Gladio placed his hand over his chest, feigning hurt. As Gladio’s longtime friend, sometimes Briony could only feel embarrassed on his behalf. True enough, he was a good sport when it came to Johanna’s stinging jabs of sarcasm; everyone in the Citadel knew that even the stern and mighty head librarian warmed up to his wily charms, and all he had to do was flash that honeyed grin of his. This kind of banter was nothing out of the ordinary. Since Gladio was an avid reader and a frequent visitor, he immediately became most of the library employees’ beacon of many fantasies, much to Briony’s (and even Johanna’s) dismay. But in their every shenanigan were rare moments of in-depth discussions of literary recommendations, the impromptu fits of dramatic poetry reading… and the more Briony thought of what she was about to miss, the more she came to regret leaving this job.

“So, what brings you here on this lovely yet steaming summer night, my sweet darling Briony? How’s Crowe and the shaggy fellow?” Johanna finally asked, completely ignoring Gladio who turned to busy himself poring over piles of books.

“You mean Libertus? Still shaggy. Crowe’s still… Crowe. Just, um—” Briony bit her lower lip in hesitation before she could babble her thoughts away. While Gladio stood in front of her labouring his time away in reading, she felt a sudden need to raise this Gladio-related concern; it was an itch she desperately wanted to get rid off, but she wisely decided against it. She knew it would be best to bring that one when Johanna’s not around, else he would be the one grilled with questions.

Hence, Briony continued with effort. “So yeah, I’m here to return my uniform and the name plate,” she said hurriedly, adjusting her duffel bag over her shoulder, taking out the black knitted vest and the black wooden badge with her name embossed in what she assumed to be sterling silver. She gingerly slid all of it over the top of Johanna’s desk.

“And here I was half expecting you’re about to retract your resignation,” Johanna said, laughing. She was not exactly the biggest fan of Briony’s decision to pursue a career as a Glaive. She had argued that she could never understand all the young ones throwing their lives away on a war that they weren't supposed to fight. Inasmuch there was wisdom in her words, Johanna was kind and cordial enough not to question Briony’s intentions.

“I’m willing to bet that Charlie boy forgot to tell you,” Johanna told Briony, “so in any case, you can keep that.”

Briony’s face wrinkled in confusion. She waited for Johanna to tell her that she was only kidding, but the elder woman said nothing. Instead, Johanna pressed the garments and moved it back to the end of the desk.

“Are you sure?” Briony rambled. “What if—”

“Oh, hush. Also, with that look on your face, I can tell you're worried about your future library visits. You're welcome to visit anytime, without charge. Just don’t tell your other Glaive friends. I have a good feeling they would abuse that privilege into doing something scandalous. So yes, a _thank you Johanna you are the best person in all of Insomnia_ would suffice—”

“Thank you Johanna you are the best person in all of _Eos,_ ” Briony responded earnestly, reaching for her from over the counter and she squeezed her into a hug. For a second, she was worried about Johanna getting upset with the sudden outburst, but she did feel her arms looping around her, if only for a moment. She pulled away and said, “You’ll see me here so often that eventually you’ll get tired of me.”

“Briony, I will never get tired seeing your darling face around here. You’ve done so much help, and letting you have free library access is the least an old lady like me can do for you,” she cheerily explained, and then she turned to look at Gladio. He had grown silent over the past few minutes sifting through the pages of what seemed to be a poetry collection. “This man, however, should be the one I have to ban around these premises.”

“Oh, Johanna,” Gladio slammed the book shut, raising his head dramatically. “Let's not forget that I inspire a lot of your staff around here.”

“There is a fine line—nay, a wall!—between inspire _and_ distract,” Johanna sharply corrected.

He cheekily grinned. “Well, you can say I’m capable of both.”

“Please forgive my best friend, the concept of humility still baffles him,” Briony teased. Gladio only mockingly rolled his eyes at her.

“See, Gladiolus? You should learn a thing or two from this lovely lady right here,” Johanna playfully chided.

Suddenly, Briony’s phone vibrated from her bag pocket. She fished it out to see a couple of messages.

_Cor 9:01 PM Got your spare key. Will drop the rest of your books tonight. Might be a little late._

_Cor 9:01 PM And some food from old Cid, too._

_Cor 9:02 PM Says he’d hate to see you eat whatever your old man’s eating. I’m guessing he’s referring to me?_

Briony could not help her stupid giggling while reading the messages that when she looked up, Gladio and Johanna gawked at her curiously. “Sorry,” she apologized in embarrassment, “I have to go. Cor’s coming over.”

“Still gets worried sick about you, isn’t he?” Johanna asked.

“Yes, seems like it.”

She gently smiled and said, “You really did make a father out of that ruffian.”

“Was he _that_ bad?” Gladio asked, him and Briony both laughing in amusement.

She sighed patiently, shaking her head. “I would love to tell the both of you the story of the troublemaker that is Cor Leonis, but that is a story best saved for another day. Our Briony is in a hurry.”

Briony gathered her things and did a quick update on her list of things. (She couldn’t resist; ticking an action item one after the other gave her some sort of therapeutic joy.) She bid both of them quick goodbyes, and sauntered away towards the hallway. While she was at it, she shot back a couple of texts to Cor:

_9:06 PM well let me know if you need me to start calling you paw paw or pops so we can establish your old man / dad authority in my life._

_9:06 PM also, just stopped by the citadel library. omw back home._

Halfway through the door, she heard Johanna’s velvety voice echoing throughout the halls, calling out to her. “I’ll be seeing you around, alright dear?”

Briony turned around to look at her. There was a wistful, lingering look in Johanna’s face that she knew so well—a soft and faint current of sadness, a kind of mourning.

She happily smiled and waved back. “You can bet on it.”

The look in Johanna’s eyes clearly said one thing: she knew that Briony was as good as a dead girl walking.

 

* * *

 

Out of nowhere, Gladio fell into step beside Briony when she reached the train station entrance.

“Glad I caught up with ya!” He greeted her with a gentle slap on the back. 

“Hey,” Briony scooped her e-card in her pocket and tapped it over the turnstile; Gladio did the same. “Aren’t you supposed to be… somewhere else?”

They slipped out at the same time and walked their way towards the platforms. “Nope, I’m walking you back to your place and then I’m heading home.”

Briony stopped abruptly. “Wait, what—”

Gladio, too, halted in his steps and swivelled around to face her. “Is it so wrong to make sure that my best friend gets home safely?” he asked, the concern all too syrupy sweet.

“No, but—”

“Okay, that’s settled. I’m going with you.”

Gladio marched off, leaving Briony a few steps behind. She narrowed her eyes in growing suspicion.

_Something’s not right._

In the years that Briony had known Gladio, she had been conditioned to understand how he operated, and this—him offering a walk home—was a minor red flag. Scratch that, it’s a _major_ red flag: Briony was aware that Gladio was exclusively dating some hot-shot elite, and he rarely went out of his way to walk Briony home whenever he was in a relationship. 

When they reached their train platform, Briony asked, “What’s really up? You know that—”

As if on purpose, a train zipped past and pulled to a stop in interruption. “Right, anyway,” Gladio clapped his hands in all smiles—another red flag, being all too cheery over the simplest things—completely ignoring Briony’s hanging question. “Here goes our ride!”

A small group of men in jet black business suits shuffled out the carriage. Gladio ushered Briony inside; the train was almost empty, and they took the vacant seats over at the middle portion of the carriage, right in front of an old man in a _FUCK THE NIFS_ shirt snoring his commute ride away.

As the door closed and the train whirred back to life, so did Briony’s burning curiosity with Gladio’s odd behavior. She already had an inkling as to what it was, but she wanted to let the chips fall where they may.

“Fine.” She finally caved in after a minute of fruitless silence. “I have something that can make you talk. Now that we're here and gladly miles away out of Johanna’s earshot, I was hoping you can explain these flurry of insults I received last night.” Briony flashed her phone in front of Gladio’s face, effectively startling him. He looked at her incredulously and carefully took the phone from her hand. A message thread was ready in full display for him to read:

_Unknown 11:15 PM hi there, you whore. you might think you can convince everyone that you’re just gladio’s bff, but you can’t fool me, you boyfriend stealing bitch._

_Unknown 11:15 PM fuck you, you don't deserve him. or anyone in this lifetime._

_Unknown 11:16 PM i suggest that you go kill yourself._

_Unknown 11:16 PM i just hope that you die in one of your missions or whatever._

As he scrolled through the screen, Briony watched his face morph from shock to anger to disbelief in seamless transition.

“Shit, Ronnie, I’m _so_ sorry about this,” Gladio said and shook his head. “How did _she_ even get your number?”

Briony snatched the phone out of his hand. “I don't know? I’m assuming this is your girlfriend? What’s her name again, Jessica? Or was it Jenica? Janice...”

“It’s Amara.”

“Oh right, the bombshell, Barbie doll carbon copy. Got it. Sorry, I don’t have a database or even a timeline of all your paramours. Remind me to make one for you,” Briony smirked, waiting for a quip back. Instead, she was met with another silence. Something was definitely up, so instead of prolonging the agony, she asked, “Does this have anything to do with—”

“I broke up with her last night,” Gladio answered, lightning fast.

 _Bingo. A girl problem,_ she thought, smiling. _Welcome to my life as the best friend and advisor to Lord Gladiolus of House Amicitia, Sworn Shield to the Crown Prince, Casanova of Insomnia._

“Wait, I don't understand, though _—_ ” Briony followed through, raising a hand _—_ “why does she go off thinking I’m the third party?”

“Well, we had a huge fight, sort of. She was making me choose between you and her, and I chose you.”

Briony’s eyes widened. Out of surprise, she punched him as hard as she could in the arm.

“Ow! Hey, what the—” Gladio flailed and flinched— “that honestly hurt! What was that for!?”

“Are you serious? Why on earth would you choose me over your fucking girlfriend?”

“What do you mean why you? You're my best friend, Ronnie. It's as simple as that _—_ ”

“Yeah, yeah. Noct and Prom, too, are your best friends _—_ but that's different.  _We're_ different. Amara’s your _girlfriend_ , Gladio." Briony emphasized the word _girlfriend_ as if she were mentally slapping Gladio with it. "Besides, you’ve been dating for a year!”

“I know, but…”

The pause simmered. For starters, Briony completely acknowledged that Gladio’s a good guy. Not to mention, incredibly handsome. And by the Gladio-definition of handsome, it was as if the Astrals decided that Eos needed a demigod so they molded his mortal body to perfection: insanely tall, broad shoulders, an exquisite mop of chocolate brown hair, and those charming amber eyes. He was thekind of handsome that girls would mindlessly throw themselves at his feet just to get his attention. Briony was used to it, and she accepted all of these facts ever since they were growing up. And if Briony were to compare both of their physical traits, she could only think of Gladio’s behemoth height at six-six and how it made her feel like a chubby baby garula in comparison. She forever regarded their physique and height difference with disdain as it served as a reminder of her lifelong cross to bear.

But physical perfection aside, Briony knew of Gladio’s weakness: he’s very allergic to commitment. She had said that to him straight in his face, on one of the many pep talks that she had probably given him in her lifetime. Briony had seen all of his past relationships and flings come and go, and it all usually met its untimely demise because of “irreconcilable differences”, as how he would casually put it.

But Gladio was Briony’s best friend, and she would be insanely stupid not to know that “irreconcilable differences” was his code for _my duties as a Crownsguard and Shield of the King must come first_ , which didn’t really sit well with most of his ex-girlfriends.

Amara, however, seemed promising. It was a first that a relationship of his lasted for more than a year.

“Sorry, let’s backtrack a bit,” Briony said, breaking the silence and restarting their conversation. “How was that topic even brought up?”

Gladio grumbled. “Ronnie, this is a really long story—”

“And this is an hour long train ride, so let’s use our time wisely and make it count. Also, we have all night, and you know that I just moved and your flat’s just two cartwheels away from mine—”

“Fine, _fine_ ,” he conceded. Gladio propped himself to face Briony, his elbow resting on the window ledge. “Do you remember that photo Prompto took the night of the gala? I was plastered drunk apparently and short as you are, you’re carrying me—” Briony nodded repeatedly as confirmation that indeed, she did remember that hilarious photo of her carrying one goon of a man with his face so close to hers they might have exchanged faces, so she motioned for him to go on, so Gladio only continued— “right, so Prompto posted it on his Facebook account, and Amara showed it to me when it appeared on her timeline. I thought she was cool about it, everything was fine, we’re talking about that night. She’s all giggles, even commenting how our friendship is just too adorable.

“And that’s when she popped the question: if today was my last day on Eos, would I spend it with her or with you? It felt like a no-brainer, so I told her I’d spend it with you. And she went livid, and then the next thing I know we were fighting, and finally I told her if she can’t stand any of my friends, then we better nip this in the bud. And she stormed off. The end.”

After that condensed narration of events, Gladio was slightly running out of breath, and Briony was left speechless. Briony only had Gladio, Crowe, and Libertus to consider as her closest friends. A part of her felt glad that there was someone in her inner circle who thought highly of their friendship that they were willing to break up with their partner just to salvage it. She didn’t know it was possible. But that part of her brain also felt like a dick for selfishly thinking that way.

“That’s… Gladio, I’m sorry to hear that. Really.” Briony genuinely consoled him. Like, _really_ consoled him. It was always easy for her to take the blame on something that isn’t even her fault to begin with.

“Hey, don’t be,” he mumbled, his eyes still fixed on her. “If anyone should be sorry, it should be her ‘cause she didn't need to drag you in this mess and verbally abuse you like that.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Briony forced a smile. “I’m just surprised, you know? It’s a first, if I think about your roster of ex-girlfriends. I can see Mandy spitting vitriol my way—like, she was pretty vocal how she doesn’t want you to be associated with any plebs, let alone immigrants like myself. But Amara? Girl looks like she’s all zen.”

“Yeah, but looks can be deceiving.”

Briony nodded pensively. “Touché.” 

“So I guess there’s that.”

“So I guess Amara’s no angel, huh.”

Gladio wistfully shook his head. “At first, she was. But, for a while, I wasn't so sure anymore. And then you showed me her texts, so that pretty much confirms it. Well, y’know how things weren't exactly smooth sailing for the both of us lately. She happens to be like Mandy, but ten times the prejudice. I thought I can work through it. But, I dunno… I guess, that talk felt like a sign. If she really was right for me and if she really felt secure in our relationship, she wouldn't need to make me choose.”

“Okay. Fair point.”

“Besides, Iris didn't really like her that much.”

“Iris _never_ liked any of your girlfriends, Gladio.”

“That… is fairly true." Gladio laughed that hearty laughter of his. “Oh well. Though I have to say, I'll definitely miss her in bed. She gives the mind-blowing—”

“Oh gods, I’m not hearing this.” Briony groaned in disgust. Gladio boomed again with another roaring laughter.

“But hey _—_ ” Briony shifted in her seat, fiddling with the strap of her duffel bag. She considered Gladio, whose face now wore a dimness of a broken-hearted man. Then, she said: “I’m honoured that you value our friendship so dearly… I know this sounds completely ridiculous coming from me, but as your friend, I wish nothing but a healthy relationship for you. But I think… _you_ also have to want it. Like, genuinelywant it. And I know it isn’t exactly your priority right now, but I honestly think that someday, you’ll find yourself _wanting_ a relationship with someone you’ll love with a fury of a thousand suns that in case the world makes you choose, you’ll just choose them in a heartbeat over and over again.”

Gladio looked at Briony with a raised eyebrow, as if she said something really offensive. But then, his mouth pulled up into a warm smile. “You know… for someone who hasn't even had a serious boyfriend, you impart some wicked words of wisdom, Cupcake.”

“Fuck you," Briony snarled, and Gladio laughed. “And again, don’t call me _that._ Also, isn't this the real reason why you're accompanying me? So I can give you sound advice, an ego boost, or whatever it is to soothe your heartache?”

“Well, yes. But to be fair, I also wanted to see what your new apartment looks like,” Gladio admitted with a grin plastered on his face.

Briony’s mouth curled into a devious smirk. “Right.”

“Though seriously, thank you.” Gladio looked away, his voice was low and soft; Briony spied in his face a shade of pink she rarely saw on him. “For, y’know, being there,” he quickly added. “And I can't exactly talk about this stuff with Iggy or Noct.”

She wanted to tease him for getting flustered, but she caught herself from doing it. “Don’t mention it, my lord,” she replied in teasing mockery. “Just doing my job as your—”

“If you dare call yourself again as my royal advisor and address me as lord I’m gonna kick your ass.” He shot her a death glare like no other. Gladio hated being addressed with courtesies, which Briony typically used to her advantage just to pester the shit out of him.

A mischievous smile creeped up on her face. “Um, how about Hand of the Shield—”

“No, stop being such a _Game of Thrones_ nerd.”

“Yes, my lord—”

“You’re fucking impossible.” They stared down at each other, until they both exploded in laughter that the old man sleeping in front of them stirred from his deathly slumber.

“You love birds should keep it down.” The man scowled at the both of them before he stomped away to the next carriage. Gladio and Briony shared another knowing look; she watched as he was trying his best to contain his laughter just as much as she did, but they both failed miserably—they guffawed like idiots.

Another minute rolled away when they heard the subway system mechanically announcing their stop. They quickly alighted, exited the platform, and rustled their way outside the station. Briony checked her phone to see if there was any message from Cor, but there was nothing.

Gladio and Briony took a stroll under a dimly lit sidewalk bordered with low shrubs, cherry trees, and fluorescent streetlights. An hour away from the Citadel and Central Insomnia where the core of the metropolis was, the downtown neighbourhood where they lived offered Briony something that immediately captured her heart: a piece of serenity and a bittersweet memory of her childhood home. She fell in love the instant she saw the lush greenery filed in neat rows on the side of the road, sprinkled in every street. Most tenements were cloaked in vines; small, bricked houses were surrounded with junipers and rose shrubs, and the air was thick with the smell of leaves and earth. But what Briony loved the most was that her place was closer to the South Gate, which meant weekly visits to Hammerhead at her easiest convenience.

“Here we are,” she announced when they arrived in front of a fairly vintage apartment building decorated in ivy and moss. “Good night—”

Gladio caught her arm. “Nope.”

“What?”

“I told ya I wanna see your place.”

 _Right. Of course he remembered that,_ Briony wearily thought. Then, she countered immediately: “But there’s nothing to see, Gladio. I’m not yet even done unpacking—”

“Then I’ll help you out! Unless… you're hiding something.” The smile on Gladio’s face was full of indecent suggestion.

“Yeah, a box full of porn and a couple of my sex tapes… oh wait, that's _your_ place,” Briony snapped back.

“Very funny.” Gladio scoffed. “C’mon, just one drink? I promise I’ll skedaddle afterwards. Please? Indulge your heartbroken friend over here.” He rested his massive hands on her shoulders, and gave her a god-awful, pouty puppy eyes.

Briony thought it was sickening how she couldn't bring herself to say no to this big human bear of a best friend. Finally, she relented and said, “Fine, whatever, just one—”

Gladio hooked his arm around her shoulder. “You’re the bestest, Cupcake!”

As Briony led him inside the lobby and through a flight of stairs, he asked, “So how’s Cor holding up now that you’ve moved out of his place?”

“He’s fine, I guess. But Cor’s the most awkward foster father in the history of foster fathering,” Briony briefly explained. “I mean, he says he’s okay with it, yet here he is, checking up on me if I’m still alive or something.”

They reached the fourth floor hallway where Briony’s apartment was, and no soul was in sight. Gladio trailed behind Briony, until she made a sudden stop just a few feet from her door, the one with a copper _401_ signage…

Briony immediately noticed that her front door was slightly ajar. She nervously turned to Gladio, and she jerked her head towards the direction of her door. All it took for Gladio was one swift look. They exchanged nervous glances.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Gladio instructed, immediately on guard. They both took careful steps forward. Cautiously pushing the door open, Gladio drew out his shield and proceeded further, while Briony followed behind. Her heart started drumming restlessly in the deafening silence. In the darkness of her apartment, she blindly fumbled along the corridor walls to search for a nearby switch.

 _That should be around… here_. Briony flicked the lights to life. She surveyed the surroundings. The boxes were still stacked at the end of the corridor leading to the living room. It seemed as if nothing had changed since she left this morning...

Except there were faint traces of crimson smeared on the wooden floor.

Gladio stopped and turned to Briony, shell-shocked. “Is this blood—”

Briony raced past him, following the faded tracks of blood to the corner and to the living room.

Panic sliced through the thrumming of her heart at the sight of Cor, wounded and almost lifeless on her couch.

 


	2. Gladiolus Amicitia

Everything happened fast, and yet in rich, excruciating detail.

There was Ronnie, rushing to an unconscious Cor, sinking on her knees and checking his pulse, tears streaming down her face. She confirmed Cor was still breathing, and she immediately commanded Gladio to grab the medical kit on one of her cupboards and to fetch a bottle of water. Gladio was quick on his feet, darting over the kitchen, speeding through each cabinet, snatching the medical kit along with several canisters of elixir bottles, and taking an entire jug of water from the fridge. He hurried back to Ronnie, who was already unbuttoning Cor’s clothes soaked in blood. A huge gash bled over his left shoulder blade down to his torso; a few slashes cruised over his left arm, and the left side of his face was swollen purple. Gladio handed her the medical supplies, and Ronnie was quick to soak a piece of cloth in water and started cleaning the wounds. She applied a sterile gauze before placing a layer of bandage in between pressure, one sheet after another, until the blood stopped oozing through. She downed an elixir for good measure. In the middle of tending to Cor’s wounds, Ronnie was crying profusely, and in tattered, uneven breaths, she asked Gladio to carry Cor inside her room.

To see Cor— _the_ Cor Leonis—bruised and battered was a sight Gladio thought would never see in his lifetime.

Minutes ticked painfully into hours. Gladio sat at the foot of Ronnie’s bed, while Cor lay still, pale and faintly breathing. Meanwhile, Ronnie remained restless. She paced back and forth, impatiently waiting for Cor to regain consciousness.

“He’ll be fine,” Gladio assured her, but she only replied with silence. He sensed the worry draining her alive. He pulled himself up and stood in front of Ronnie to get her attention.

“Ronnie, look at me—” Gladio gently seized her shoulders. Ronnie looked up at him, her mismatched eyes still welled with unshed tears, and he could feel her small body shivering in fear and unease. “Cor’s gonna wake up soon. You did good, okay?”

Her mouth twitched, and all Gladio could do in his state of helplessness was to wrap her in a fierce embrace. He hadn't seen her cry this hard in a long time, and he hated seeing her like this. He felt Ronnie gripping the back of his tank top like a lifeline, desperately clutching the fabric as if summoning whatever form of strength she required, just _anything_ to get her through the agonizing wait.

“He’s the only family I have.” Ronnie’s words came out hoarse as she whispered, and Gladio could hear it in her voice that she was slowly falling apart.

Gladio tried to imagine the depth of pain and the varying degrees of emotion that Ronnie had gone through in her life, but time and again, he knew that no imagination nor any remote attempt so close to it could ever give him a satisfying answer; he always found himself at a complete loss. Though he possessed a big heart capable of immeasurable kindness, Gladio strongly felt that empathy, even if in its purest form, would not suffice to fully grasp and understand the gravity of the suffering that Ronnie had painstakingly endured. Gladio had learned, among the many things he had discovered about Ronnie as they were growing up, that she never knew her biological parents. Her adoptive mother, whom she loved dearly, was taken away from her by the Empire, and along with it, the only home she had ever known. Cor took it upon himself to be Ronnie’s father figure from that day forward. And to see Cor gravely injured in her own apartment… Gladio couldn’t fathom the crippling fear and horror that Ronnie was going through.

“Sorry…” A weak voice suddenly stirred. “Sorry if I... came barging in here like this...”

Gladio whipped his head to see Cor, trying and struggling to rise out of bed. Ronnie swiftly disentangled herself from Gladio and came to Cor’s aid, adjusting the pillows behind his back.

“Take it easy.” She gently assisted him, raising a pillow against the headboard. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit dizzy… and sore.” Cor winced when he tried to move his arm.

“They sure did a number on ya,” Gladio dryly remarked.

Cor still managed a weak and breathy laugh. “You should see the other guy.”

“Well, Cor, you should see _yourself,”_ Ronnie fired back, stepping away, hands on her waist. The look on her face said it all: she did not find any of this amusing. “The other guy better be dead.”

“Unfortunately, no,” he confessed. “Just… broke a couple of his limbs. And his pride, probably.”

“How could you joke at a time like this? And I don't get it, Cor—who can possibly be _stronger_ than you that they can survive to see another day? And that they can hurt you _this_ much?” Ronnie pressed on, seething. Gladio did not need to look at Ronnie’s face to know that her temper was reaching its boiling point.

Cor closed his eyes, as if deciding what to answer. “Ronnie—” he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut—“just because I’m strong doesn't mean I can’t take any damage. I’m made of flesh and bone—”

She glared at him. “Don’t give me that shit! I know you—you're not _that_ careless! Whoever this guy is—”

Gladio tried to calm her down. “Ronnie, hey—”

“Gladio?” Cor interrupted and shot Gladio a firm look. “Can you… give me and Ronnie a moment?”

Gladio glanced at Ronnie, and then back at Cor. He had seen the both of them argue countless times; the brevity of Ronnie’s razor-sharp words were enough indication that she was more than just upset, and at this rate, Gladio was aware when Cor and Ronnie’s typical crossfire was about to happen.

“Yes, sir.” Gladio nodded and excused himself, shutting the door behind him. The sound of their heated discussion eventually faded into an indistinct murmur.

Left to his own devices, Gladio wandered around Ronnie’s apartment. He noticed that only a gray couch (a good portion of it bloodstained), a number of brown boxes, and heaps of books sitting on the floor occupied most of the space. After getting a better look, Gladio was slightly impressed: Ronnie’s flat was considerably roomy and the headroom of the ceiling was just right, given his hulking size. The space was quaint with the freshly-painted white walls, columns of empty shelves at the corner of the living room, and a small kitchen adjacent to the narrow corridor where they came through. Over her fridge, he spied a list written in Ronnie’s immaculate handwriting:

  1. _Video call Cindy!!! (V. important re: Cid’s surprise birthday party)_
  2. _Unpack books and arrange alphabetically, by genre._
  3. _Buy groceries (refer to grocery list on p.2)._
  4. _Decorate walls with polaroid prints._
  5. _Buy another set of sheets._
  6. _Reset locker in KG HQ._



He smiled to himself; a place wouldn’t be Ronnie’s place if there weren’t any presence of her insanely specific lists.

Gladio moved along and walked over the thick, white cloth that loomed over the wall opposite the semi-bloodied couch. Out of curiosity, he pulled it back, only to reveal columns of black metal-framed windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, framing a breathtaking view of Insomnia’s cityscape gleaming in the night sky.

His meandering steered him to examine the bunch of books lying around. Most of it were titles from Ronnie’s favorite authors. Gladio crouched to browse on the lower piles, and found a couple of poetry books— _e.e cummings, Pablo Neruda, Maya Angelou—_ which were mostly presents from him _._ Except the copy of _Pablo Neruda._ He carefully removed it from the deck of books and took it with him.

As Gladio was about to sprawl himself on the neat side of the couch and take his sweet time to read, a photo dropped from between the pages.

It was a picture of a young Ronnie, smiling from ear to ear, her cocoa brown hair pulled up in a ponytail, giddily standing in front of a much younger Cor. And somewhere behind was Gladio, photobombing this supposedly father-daughter tandem. He remembered this day clearly: the photo was taken right outside the Citadel just after one of their sparring sessions, when Ronnie took out her camera to commemorate her second deal with Cor. That day, they had agreed that before she could get Cor’s blessing to join the Kingsglaive, she would have to attend and finish high school first.

There was something funny about looking at an old photo, Gladio thought, that he started looking back on his first meeting with Ronnie. He was eleven when they met in the Citadel; Ronnie a year younger. His father, Clarus, was with him in the Crownsguard training room one dull afternoon when Cor came in with a plumpy, olive-skinned girl, whose wavy, brown hair swept just above her shoulders. She was poring over a book, alone in her own universe, not paying any mind to Gladio, Clarus, or even Cor, who rigorously explained and summarized her story. The main gist of it was that three months ago, in the middle of the Empire’s attack, Cor smuggled Ronnie out of Tenebrae at her mother’s behest and brought her in Lucis to safety. Knowing he couldn’t just let her stay in the Citadel quarters with him, Cor had asked Cid to let her live with him in the meantime while he sorted things out, which Cor had said that Cid happily agreed to. (Later on, Cor admitted to Gladio and Clarus that it took a lot of groveling for him to convince Cid. Clarus could only laugh in sheer amusement. “Gods, a groveling Cor is a sight I should have seen,” he tearfully jested.)

However, that particular morning, Cid frantically called Cor and reported how Ronnie was nowhere to be found. Worry-stricken and severely panicked, Cor hastily left his office, only to find Ronnie outside the Citadel waiting for him, which eventually brought them together with Gladio and Clarus in the training room.

While Gladio keenly followed the thread of conversation between Cor and his father, he watched Ronnie with avid curiosity. As the foreign girl in front of him was lost in her own little world in between the pages of her book, Gladio had wondered how a kid around his age survived the monstrosity she had seen. Gladio listened to Cor negotiating with his father, in which Cor had asked Clarus’s permission to allow Ronnie in the special training regimen that Gladio had every weekends.

At first, Clarus had vehemently objected at the very concept of it. But before he could further assert his stance, Ronnie peered away from her book, looked up at the elder Amicitia, and politely said: “My lord, forgive my audacity, but the blame is entirely on me. This was my idea. I only ask that you grant us your permission so this honourable man can keep the other end of his deal.”

Gladio had wheeled around to his old man, whose face was tinged with surprised; most kids, let alone grown-ass adults, never dared interrupt his father in the middle of trivial matters. Intrigued, Clarus only solemnly smiled and asked: “Pray tell, young lady—what is this deal you speak of?”

Without batting an eyelash, Ronnie had answered: “If he’ll teach me how to fight, I won’t make any other plans or further attempts to return to Tenebrae.”

Clarus fell silent. So did Cor. A few moments later, Clarus had made urgent calls, which included securing an apartment outside the Citadel for both Cor and Ronnie to live in. He even arranged the papers to have Cor to be officially Ronnie’s legal guardian. Then Ronnie faced Gladio, and that’s when he finally noticed her eyes—a colour of a calm, cerulean sky on her right eye, a raging gray thunderstorm on the other.

Ever since they were children, Gladio had always been aware of the unspoken tenacity present in Ronnie’s mismatched eyes. It was a quiet determination, one that even stoic and no-nonsense men such as Clarus could be strikingly persuaded.

And something about seeing those eyes in a painful shade of sadness tonight made Gladio’s heart twist in knots.

“Oh, where did you find that?”

Gladio gasped in surprise, shattering his quiet moment of contemplation. He turned around to see Ronnie peeking over his shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days with a heart attack, I fucking swear,” Gladio said.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.” It had been a long night, and Ronnie could only give him a tired smile.

“Everything alright back there?” he asked.

Ronnie hopped over the couch and sat right next to Gladio, not minding the stained section where she landed herself. “Yeah, we’re good. Sorry you had to see that. You know that’s just how we are, how we’ve always been.”

“You could've at least waited until he recovered from his wounds, y’know,” Gladio suggested.

“I know, I… got carried away—gods, it’s just—” she took a deep breath and heaved her knees close to her chest _—_ “I wouldn't know what I’d do if…”

“Hey, don’t.” Immediately regretting what he said, Gladio pulled her into another firm embrace and let her rest on his shoulder. Gladio wanted to say something more, to tell her that he understood, to tell her something, _anything..._ but he could not find the right words to say to comfort her. 

“But, um.” She quietly sniffed. “Thank you. For sticking around. You didn't have to—”

“I gotcha, Ronnie—don’t sweat it,” Gladio quickly assured her. “And besides, it’s the Marshal we’re talking about here. And you. Can't really find it in me to say no in helping my friends out.”

“Thank you." Ronnie slowly shifted and withdrew herself from Gladio, snatching the picture from his hand. “So, big guy—seems like you’ve been taking a tour out of my shabby place.”

“I promise, I didn't snoop around.” Gladio raised his right hand as a gesture of sincerity. “Only… browsed through the books you’ve got lying around and that thing fell through. Who gave you the _Pablo Neruda_ , by the way?”

“A nameless fella. Got it from the Kingsglaive Secret Santa last year. Surprisingly enough, the one who picked me knew my tastes in books, it seems.” Ronnie hunched over, crossed her legs, and inspected the photo with serious intensity. “Judging from this photo I took, I’d think we’ll know where your bad angle is, Casanova,” she deadpanned. Was it a joke? Sometimes, Gladio just never knew with her.

“Excuse you, I was voted Mr. Photogenic in our class,” Gladio sheepishly said, defending his slightly crushed ego.

“Ha! I knew it—to think you even called it to be some stupid award,” Ronnie pointed out, a wide shit-eating grin on her face. “Say that again so we can put it on record.”

Gladio sighed, feeling defeated, yet at the same time relieved. It was nice to finally see the smile back in Ronnie’s face, even for this moment’s reprieve.

“Sometimes, I miss these good old days,” Gladio began to say.

Ronnie cast him a teasing smile. “How come? Because there’s no drama and conflict in your romantic life back in the day?”

“No, no—not that.” Gladio gawked at her, and that look in her eyes said that she was waiting for Gladio to admit that he was lying. “Okay, maybe sort of,” Gladio yielded in a matter of seconds, and they both laughed. “But I mean... when we were kids, training on weekends. That thing. Everything was easier.”

“But we still train together, Gladio,” Ronnie gently offered.

“Yeah, I know. But those days were simpler.”

“Yeah, those _were_ the days when I could barely lift a sword,” she hummed. “Bruised myself here and there.”

“But you’re a fast learner.”

She scoffed in objection. “It took me a _year_ before I finally disarmed you! How is that a fast learner—”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Ronnie,” Gladio countered.

Ronnie relaxed a bit and leaned back on the couch. After a comfortable silence, she finally announced: “I’ve been reassigned in the vanguard.”

Gladio jerked his head at her direction out of surprise, and a flood of questions gushed out of his mouth. “Are you serious? Does Cor know? When are you leaving?”

She fixed her eyes on him. “Yes and yes,” she uncomplainingly answered. “Well, Cor knows everything that’s going on. And not much he can do about it, and all he can ask from me is I get back home alive. We’re leaving for Galahd three days from now.”

 _Well, that was… too soon,_ Gladio thought. He digested this crucial detail like a jawbreaker and let it marinate for a second, a minute, and probably another.

The news shouldn't have fazed him, Gladio reckoned, and he awfully forgot sometimes how different the Kingsglaive functioned compared to the Crownsguard folk. Ronnie was a Glaive, and it’s technically part of her job. Of course, Gladio had always known that she would be deployed sooner or later; she’s worked so hard under probation, providing support to her comrades as their medic, taking on the even smallest errands around Lucis, and training relentlessly that she’s grown to be a ferocious fighter over the years. That’s why she gave up her other job at the Citadel library in the first place.

But this was different now. This was the real deal.

Ronnie was going to the front lines of this damn war, this war that Lucis had been fighting for  _years._

 _My best friend. In three days. In an actual battlefield._ The thought still stewed in Gladio’s head.

“Gladio—”

He adjusted on his seat so he can take a proper look at Ronnie. “Aren'tcha supposed to be under probation until next year?”

“Yup, but after saving Nyx’s ass, Drautos felt it was just right—”

“Wait, why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Wait, about what now?”

“This. And you saved _Nyx Ulric?_  Didn't you say you hated this guy? When? Why—”

“Hey, hate is such a strong word. I'd rather use _dislike_ _,_ " Ronnie said, a matter-of-factly. "And I don’t know, we were busy trying to fix your love life earlier so it slipped my mind—”

“Briony. Clark.”

“Okay, okay, easy there tiger.” She yawned and stretched her arms, scooting herself closer as she prepared to tell her tale. “It was in the training room. A week ago, I think. We were doing our usual blade warp drills, and then I saw him free falling from the makeshift tower. I thought he was just about to pull a stunt, but when I heard him screaming _'shit shit shit'_ I took that as a serious cry for help. And I warped him back to the ground.” She shrugged. “That’s… it, actually.”

At this point, Gladio gaped at her. Sometimes, he found Briony's obliviousness to her own skills to be irritatingly unbelievable. “You do realize this is _Nyx_ we're talking about, right?” 

“Yeah? Show-off hero Nyx Ulric. I do know. Senior Glaive. Bane of my existence.”

“Yes, but all your passionate hate aside, for the second time—you're not giving yourself enough credit.”

“Yeah, and all that aside, I can tell that you’re worried,” she finally blurted out.

 _Oh, hell yes. For fuck’s sake, Ronnie, you’re my closest friend, and you’re about to fight this damn war for the first time!_ Gladio wanted to scream all the words out, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Instead, he tried to deny his way out.

“I’m not. I’m…”

“That face. The same as Johanna’s.”

“What?”

“That face you’re making. It’s like both of you are already seeing me in my funeral dress.”

Gladio quickly felt stupid for even trying to lie in Ronnie’s face. “Fine,” he relented, “yes, I’m… worried. I know you’re strong enough to do this, but… this is not fun and games and plain training anymore. It’s the _real_ thing.”

“I know.” She rested her head on his shoulder. They sat there in a hazy cloud of silence, a silence laid thick with so much anxiety.

Almost pleading, Gladio asked her one favour. “You come back to us, alright?”

And just like that, Ronnie looked at Gladio straight in the eyes, the same way when they first met. “I will. Because I promise, I will rip them all into shreds,” she declared, her voice echoing resolve. “I want them to know of my suffering. Every last one of them.”

 

* * *

 

Gladio walked back to his flat, exhausted and ready to hit the sack. His mind still kept racing about Ronnie, and the idea of her upcoming assignment. He wanted for time to stop, he wanted to do something to stop _all_ of it. His ruminations were ambushed when he saw a familiar figure lounging at his doorstep.

“What the hell're you doing here at this hour, Amara?” Gladio’s tone was close to a growl.

Even at this godforsaken hour, Amara Pax stood cloaked in her ethereal beauty, like her body was not capable of showing any sign of weariness. Briony had joked at some point that she may be some new breed of millennial vampire, which Gladio only shrugged off as one of Ronnie's outrageous commentaries. But in this light, one could see the sharpness of her features: Amara was blessed with long limbs, an hourglass figure, crowned with a striking platinum, blonde hair that complemented her menacing, blue eyes.

“I’m sorry I walked out on you like that.” The saccharine sweetness of Amara's voice failed to disguise the regret of her words.

Gladio only easily dismissed her as he walked past, fishing out the keys from his pocket to open the door. “Ames, we’re done. Get the fuck out of here.”

“No, we’re not done,” she pleaded, and she reached for his arm. “I’m sorry, Gladio. Let’s fix this. I want you back.”

“I think the one you should be apologizing to is Ronnie,” Gladio bit back. “You know, for that horrible texts you sent her?”

Amara rolled her eyes. “Oh, wow. Her again? What did you even see in her—”

“She’s my best friend, Amara, goddamit! And you have no right to talk or treat anyone like that!” Gladio snarled, turning to face her.

“Fine, whatever. I’ll apologize to your _best friend,_ if that’s what it takes to make this work.” It was evident in Amara’s pretty face that she had a difficult time spitting those words out. “Just… stay with me. Please.”

Gladio considered Amara and whatever this situation was in front of him. The weary part of him wanted to push her away, to finally end this poisonous relationship once and for all. But something inside him stirred, some stubborn form of hope that wanted to hold on to this mad affair, to prove that maybe, for once, he was actually capable of making a relationship work for a change.

Amara was quick to take advantage of Gladio’s moment of hesitation. “Is this the part where we now have angry, make-up sex?” she playfully teased. She radiated with so much appeal that Gladio was too weak to even repel it.

“You’re fucking unbelievable, Ames—”

It was a long night, and Gladio needed some form of escape from the worries that plagued his head, that when Amara pulled him for a burning kiss, he generously responded to the gesture. His mind said that he was being deliberately stupid, but his body wanted this momentary pleasure. He banged his door open, took her to his bed, and even in the heat of the moment, Ronnie’s face never left Gladio’s head. Not even for a single second.

 


	3. Nyx Ulric

Insomnia, even with all its air-conditioned malls and sophisticated ventilation system, was a sweltering hell pit on a summer’s day. This might sound like an exaggeration, but for Nyx, it was quite far from it. As he sprinted from his humble apartment all the way to the train station in the sickening heat, he wondered how he was able to stomach the past decade living in this frantic metropolis.

Despite having acclimated to the Crown City life, Nyx still nurtured a distaste with the fast-paced lifestyle of which he resigned himself into. He had no choice in the matter; his place was now in Insomnia, even if it offered nothing but colossal architectures of ashen gray, a handful of greeneries in neighborhoods, and downtown streets steaming with rotting garbage. That being so, Nyx still could not find it in him to understand how Insomnians survive—heck, let alone function without wanting to commit fucking murder _—_ in this kind of raging heat baked in acrid smoke and pungent trash.

But what was worse in any stinking summer’s day spent in Insomnia was that it never failed to draw a miserable nostalgia out of Nyx, one that made him miss his _real_ home.

Back in Galahd, Nyx’s recollection of summer had always been an idyllic memory; it was a divine feast for his senses, one that he frequently relished and shared with Libertus and Selena. For him, summer had meant lazy afternoons lounging by the riverbank. It had meant golden mornings running wildly on the shores of the beach. And most of all, it had meant basking in the warm breeze carried by the sea, lulling along with the sound of the waves. His home was a fine sanctuary painted with shimmering shades of blue, the ocean stretching out as far as the eyes can see…

But Nyx wasn’t home. He no longer was. Even after a decade, Insomnia never felt remotely close to that comfort. The Crown City may have taken immigrants like him and served as their bastion of safety and protection against the Empire, but the same safety and protection failed them against the silent hostility that lingered among its native Insomnians. It was a strange behaviour that can be merely observed even in a simple wary glance or a sly click of the tongue. But Nyx didn’t let it bother him; he embraced their utmost disdain and contempt with stubborn indifference. He didn’t give them two shits, and he focused on fortifying himself with the knowledge that in spite of all, he was given a second chance at life, and a power to fight for that little flame of hope to save his home. He was willing to go miles and leagues to fight more wars for his people, if need be.

Which was why for the first time in his long career as a Glaive, Nyx couldn’t afford to be late in this Glaive meeting on their upcoming mission in Galahd.

And much to his surprise, even after rushing through his morning commute, Nyx arrived ten minutes ahead of schedule.

The Kingsglaive HQ briefing room was empty, all the leather-bound chairs still tucked neatly in rows of polished mahogany tables. He found it awfully strange that none of his friends were around. On a typical day, he usually found them already lounging or brewing some sort of ruckus prior a briefing. Besides, it was public knowledge among the Glaives that Nyx was never early for any meetings. He had a chronic case of tardiness that even Captain Titus Drautos himself had given up on his disciplinary efforts to rectify Nyx’s horrid habit. His only saving grace from Drautos’s wrath was his excellent strategic prowess and impeccable combat skills.

Nyx glanced at the time stamped on the lock screen of his phone _. Weird, they should be here by now,_ Nyx mused. As the idle minutes passed, Nyx grew impatient and shot Libertus a text:

_11:11 AM here in conference room A. the meeting’s 11:30 but where the hell are u guys?_

Nyx was most certain that today was the briefing for the Glaives’ mission in Galahd. He had been informed by Captain Drautos of this important assignment early on, and he would be lying if he said he did not look forward to it.  His anticipation was carnal in nature, a desire to raise his brand of hell against the Niffs, and it was definitely the kind of mission that Nyx would not tend to forget.

Before he could even question and scour his memory, Nyx’s phone buzzed with a message:

_Libertus 11:12 AM  shit crowe was right ur actually early???_

_Libertus 11: 12 AM btw ur in the wrong room lmao_

_Libertus 11:12 AM the meeting’s here in conference room C, tower 2. drauts isn't here yet hurry the fuck up_

Of course, of all the days that Nyx had to be early, he just had to end up in the wrong room. And of course, Libertus—the only man he had both the pleasure and displeasure of ever acknowledging as his most trusted friend since he ever learned how to even make friends—just had to forget to inform him about the last minute change of rooms. He bolted out of the door, and galloped his way towards the other conference room, which happened to be at the other side of the Citadel. The moment he opened the door to the actual venue, everyone was kind enough to welcome Nyx with their boisterous jeer and laughter.

“Time to cash in, fuckers!” Crowe casually stood up from her seat, collecting money from Luche, Tredd, and Sonitus and a couple of other Glaives who all looked disappointed and defeated at Nyx's early arrival. As opposed to the sweet affair of her almond eyes and her loosely-tied up brown hair that framed her beautiful face, Crowe had the terrifying power to inflict fear and dread in the hearts of her fellow Glaives with just one look—especially when it came to the Glaives' competitive bets.

This one was no exception. 

“Wow, thanks—I’m honestly touched you guys made a bet out of me,” Nyx nodded along as he found his seat next to Libertus, who slouched his entire stocky body against the chair, rubbing the hair that crusted his chin. He wasn’t at all surprised at this tomfoolery; he was aware of everyone’s gambling habits given he was one of the guys who spearheaded most of this mischief.

Crowe returned to her seat in front of Libertus and Nyx with a triumphant smile on her face, and high-fived a cheery Pelna who was seated beside her. “That was the easiest two thousand bucks I’ve ever earned in my life.”

Nyx quirked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, what? _Two fucking thousand?”_

“Thank Tredd and Sonitus for this tidings of joy, my guy,” Pelna cooed, brushing his scruffy black hair. If Crowe brewed trouble, Pelna was sure to follow. If she ever committed murder, Pelna would probably even help her dispose of the body and be the accessory to the crime. (Spoiler alert: he most definitely would.) Pelna added, “They’re so sure you’d still come in late. But this is a Galahd operation we’re talking about! Me and Crowe and Lib—we’re just glad that we know you so fucking well.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I only put in a dime for this,” Libertus grinned. As Nyx's best friend, Libertus was obviously doing a poor job of being one right now.

“Great,” Nyx huffed. “Am I supposed to get a share in this, or—”

“Nope,” Crowe said instantly.

“Not a cent,” Pelna added.

Nyx scowled. “Fantastic. Thank you for being such supportive _and_ generous friends.”

“You’re welcome,” Pelna and Crowe answered in chorus, and Libertus only laughed. If anything, Nyx actually enjoyed the good-natured mockery of his friends. He was thankful for it, even; it felt like a calm before the upcoming storm of sorts. 

He surveyed around the room and immediately noticed all of the Glaives were present, except for one Briony Clark.

Before Nyx could even ask her whereabouts, Libertus beat him to it: “By the way, have you seen Ronnie on your way here?”

“I was actually about to ask you the same thing,” Nyx admitted. “So she isn’t here yet?”

“I think not—I haven’t seen her,” Pelna answered.

Libertus hummed in silent wonder. “Huh. Two strange occurrences in a day: an early Nyx _and_ a late Ronnie.”

It was, indeed, a strange occurrence. Nyx’s horrible streak of tardiness was directly proportional to Briony’s perfect attendance record. Not once was she late in any meeting, forum, or even a party—considering that it was a blatantly established fact that parties always started an hour late.

“Shit, wait—let me text her.” Crowe hurriedly took out her phone, and eyed Nyx with curiosity. Ever since Briony joined the Glaive, both women became fast friends that Crowe almost immediately treated Briony with sisterly affection. With a voice that was oddly too suspicious, Crowe asked, “And since when are you concerned about your sworn rival, Nyx?”

“Please, Crowe—Briony’s not my rival, she’s my _nightmare._ And I’m always concerned practically about _everyone._ I’m nice like that. Is that such a bad thing—”

“Uh huh. Right. I can’t believe you’re still lying straight to my face.” Crowe punctuated her statement with one of her signature snarky eye-rolls.

“I’m not lying—” Nyx parried, and it did not occur to him that he sounded a bit too defensive that Libertus and Pelna snickered at his retort. “And hold up, how come no one even thought of—“ Nyx squared his shoulders as if to further emphasize his argument— _“I don’t know,_ placing bets on Briony running late?”

No one managed to entertain his question when Captain Titus Drautos finally entered the room. The rest of the Glaives rose in mechanical unison.

“At ease,” Captain Drautos ordered, and everyone took their seats. From where he sat, Nyx could see the unmistakable exhaustion that Drautos wore on his face. And was that a bruise below his right eye? And what was with the slightly sluggish posture? Nyx couldn’t help but wonder if their captain had a freakishly rough night.

Just as Drautos straightened up and prepared to address his troops, the door swung open again—but this time, it came with a beet red, breathless Briony.

If Drautos looked weary, Briony looked even worse. She huffed, still partly occupied in recovering her breath. It’s like she ran a marathon. Or went on a crying spree. Or went to hell and back. Twice.

Briony worriedly muttered, “I’m so sorry, I—”

“Clark, just find yourself a seat,” Drautos didn’t even bother looking at Briony, who only timidly scuttled away and took the vacant seat beside Nyx.

The Glaives traded furtive glances, both at the sight of Briony and the fact that she knowingly sat _beside_ Nyx.

Among the many other things that were public knowledge among the Glaives, one of their personal favourites was the cutthroat nature of Briony and Nyx’s relationship. Briony and Nyx, despite treating each other with utmost civility in their respective lines of duty, were actively involved in their efforts of pissing each other off. (Nyx already acknowledged that Briony was carrying more of the burden of civility. Given that she was the expert medic between the two of them, Nyx was still surprised that Briony had the patience to patch him up and cast healing spells for him every time he injured himself in the field. It was a relief that she had not left him to die. Yet.)

Even Nyx was slightly alarmed when she took the seat next to him; but he was more alarmed with the look on Briony’s face, more than anything else. Though they scarcely talked to each other without wanting to set each other on fire, as far as Nyx had known Briony, she always wore an annoying smile on her face, always carried a book as if it had been deliberately attached on her body, and always more than ready to pounce on him with an insult or a prank…

The Briony who sat next to him was uncharacteristically… _not_ Briony.

Crowe quickly turned around to Briony and whispered, “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

Nyx was watching their exchange when Briony shook her head and mouthed, “It’s okay, Crowe. I’m fine—”

_Fine? Is she fucking kidding me right now—_

“If I could have everyone’s attention, please.” Drautos cleared his throat and called out, briefly cutting off Briony and Crowe’s hushed conversation. “I’ll make this quick to save us all the time.”

Nyx tried his best to divert his attention away from Briony’s current state of mind and forced himself to focus on Captain Drautos explain their state of affairs: “Two jobs,” he began, “and I assume the first one, everyone knows by now: we have received intel that the Imperial army is making their move from the Galahd borders in the west and closer to the Crown City. Before they can even think about their plan of attack, we shall decimate their fleet and immobilize their forces.

“As for our second job: an Imperial base housing a newly developed Magitek core currently sits in Eastern Galahd, and from what we have gathered so far from Meldacio HQ, there has been an increased daemon activity in the surrounding areas. In their patrol reports, the daemons discovered are new species and much more lethal. To make this engagement more interesting, Caligo Ulldor, one of the Empire’s trusted generals, has been spotted in the base, probably overseeing this goddamn mess. Our goal is to disable that core, destabilize that base, and retrieve any helpful information on Niflheim’s activities.

“I have decided to take on a different approach for both operations. I’ll have the concentration of the rest of our forces on Western Galahd—Luche shall lead that effort. Meanwhile, Nyx, Libertus, Pelna, Crowe, and Briony will be deployed in the infiltration on Eastern Galahd.”

 _Wait, Briony?_ Nyx wanted to protest, but he held his tongue. Infiltration missions tend to be trickier to navigate; Nyx understood Captain Drautos’s decisions to send Senior Glaives on these types of assignments, given their experience and seasoned rapport. It’s what made them operate flawlessly as a cohesive unit.

Nyx knew this mission was crucial. And new to the field as she was, to include Briony in the mix was… a potential recipe for disaster.

It was not that Nyx dismissed her capabilities. He hated to admit it, but he was severely impressed with her progress in drills and hunting assignments—Nyx knew she had the competence to survive a fight, and that was without question. Apart from that, Briony got along with the rest of the Glaives just fine. Well, except with him. And Tredd, mostly because he’s the resident jerk. (Plus, Drautos was completely aware of Nyx and Briony’s constant beefing. The entire arrangement now felt like a punishment.)

Nyx turned to Briony, expecting her to raise an objection at any second. Or at least, Nyx wanted to hear some sort of reaction from her. She always did that—Nyx had her pestering habits down to a science, especially on matters that looped her in with his company. But it was disappointing as much as it was disorienting that Briony did not even show any hint of surprise in her blank face. He then turned to Libertus, who only shot him a knowing look.

“Give her a break, Nyx.” The admonishment was clear in Libertus’s hushed tone. “She’ll be fine with us.”

“I know, it’s just that—“

Drautos snapped at their direction. “Any concerns, Nyx?”

Nyx only shook his head. “No, sir. None at all,” he lied.

“Well then,” Drautos continued, “I expect everyone to be—”

“But what about Caligo Ulldor, sir?” Nyx was weirdly comforted to hear Briony’s voice again, though it meant trouble that she sharply severed Drautos’s line of thought. The Glaives nervously exchanged wary and curious looks. She even followed through with utmost boldness: “Do we take him out?”

The question that Briony posed was valid, that much was true. And yet, for a small moment, the silence that ensued was unbearable. And in that silence, Nyx saw an intensity that quickly graced Captain Drautos’s eyes, one that assessed Briony with a ferocity that Nyx knew he only saved for their enemies.

Drautos’s face remained stern, and he said flatly, “As long as you squeeze information out of the man, then by all means—whether you kill him or leave him to see another day is of no importance to me.”

Nyx saw Briony in careful consideration of the captain’s answer, before she nodded in acknowledgement. “Understood.”

Captain Drautos wrapped up after giving a few more reminders, ensuring that the Glaives should be in tiptop condition in the next coming days. Once they were dismissed, the rest of them shuffled out of the room. Crowe quickly stood up and threw herself to hug Briony. They both left the room, leaving Nyx to wonder, in equal parts curiosity and concern, what exactly happened to the spirited Briony Clark.

 

* * *

 

The trip to Galahd was hellishly bumpy. Crowe, with her earphones plugged, embraced the solitude of her playlist while she drove the vehicle. She didn’t want any distraction, so she forced Pelna and Libertus to take the backseat with Nyx and Briony. But the both of them dozed off without a care in the world, which unfortunately left Nyx with Briony in an eerie silence.

She had not said a word to him since the operation briefing. Nyx, being a creature of habit, thrived in routines; and Briony, with her sharp mouth and her arsenal of arguments that came for him on a daily basis, became a cursed routine for Nyx, much to his disdain. He wanted to start teasing her again just to get the ball rolling, but after hearing from Crowe what happened the night prior their meeting, Nyx didn’t exactly have the heart to further upset her. But he did not have any words of comfort for her, either—he found it extremely difficult to say things that were supposed to be said. So instead, he settled with the uncharacteristic peace and quiet.

But all that aside, Nyx found it awful to think that he was starting to miss their little squabbles after two days of wordlessness. What made it worse was he was so close in begging her to throw him something insulting, just any form of interaction, to get him by through the day. Which was obviously stupid. _(Or I can just talk to her, and say I offer a truce,_ Nyx thought once, and instantly regretted it. He found it very discomforting that he was about to resort to _that.)_

Nyx tried not to stare at Briony. But it was so hard, and he was so incredibly bored that examining her face seemed like his only choice to kill time. She sat across from him in the cramped space of the minivan, buried between the pages of a book. He started to look closely, and it was strange how he only noticed the little details until now. He could see the tiny freckles that tiptoed around the bridge of her nose and sprinkled like a dash of cinnamon across her slightly pudgy cheeks. Or how her mismatched eyes and the concentration that brewed on her face made her look like one of those odd-eyed felines, fierce and typically pesky and still adorable…

_Oh, for fuck’s sake—perish the thought._

Nyx sighed in exasperation. For the second time, Nyx tried not to stare _too_ hard. He hovered his attention somewhere else, and spied the cover of the book she’s reading. He immediately recognized the title. And the author.

Pablo Neruda.

_Huh. Can’t believe she actually liked it._

It was the book he gave her when Nyx regrettably picked her during last year’s Secret Santa. He never found the audacity to admit that the book came from him, given their complicated circumstances. (In Nyx’s defense, he was appalled when he overheard that someone like Briony, who worked in a fucking  _library,_  did not know the _only_ poet Nyx admired in his lifetime. Gifting her the book felt like he was doing her a favour.)

He must have failed to get his eyes off Briony’s face when without even looking up, she said, “Is there something I can help you with, hero?”

Nyx suppressed a smile. “Wow, I can’t believe the first words I’ll hear from you after two days of silence was an offer for help.”

“So you count the days I’m not pissing you off?” She pursed her lips. She still didn’t look up to meet his gaze. “How creepy.”

“Days like those need to be celebrated, Brie Cheese. Having you off my back, even for just _one day_ , awfully feels like a vacation.”

“Is that so? I suppose I have to get back to a-workin’ then, huh, _hero—”_

Briony finally met Nyx’s eyes, and he couldn’t figure out the startled look on her face. She set the book down her lap.

“You look pale,” she said worriedly that it disarmed Nyx of all his prepared quips. Her voice was low and vibrated with genuine concern, and not even a tinge of mockery. “Do you want me to get you some medicine? Something to eat?”

“That’s rather sweet of you, but no thanks—”

Briony interrupted Nyx’s plan of unleashing one of his witticisms when she reached for his face and gently placed her hand on his forehead. He felt her softness and her warmth and the sweet scent that permeated in her skin all at once, and Nyx swore that this proximity should be made illegal.

She withdrew her hand. “Okay, not feverish… you’re good, I guess.”

A dumbstruck silence lingered. Nyx, for the first time in the history of their petty contests, was lost on what to say or how to even react. He carefully deliberated on his choices, and he was surprised on what he decided to say next: “So, uh… how about you? How are you feeling?”

The moment the words left him, Nyx dreaded that his sudden display of concern would be treated as a joke. Surprisingly, Briony only smiled; and she employed her default answer to almost everything: “I’m fine.”

“Right.”

“A bit nervous. But still, fine.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, so I—”

“Hmm?”

“I heard from Crowe. About what happened. I’m… sorry,” Nyx offered.

Briony’s expression softened. A rare sight, if Nyx was being honest. “It’s... alright,” she said, “and it’s not your fault.”

“So how’s Cor doing?”

Briony sighed. “Back on the job like nothing happened.”

“Figures,” Nyx replied, and they both laughed. “That guy doesn’t know how to take a breather.”

“Tell me about it—”

Just when Nyx was making a historical breakthrough in Normal Conversations 101 with Briony, there came a loud, thundering roar. The van suddenly skidded and screeched, then the sound of rustling leaves, until coming to a full stop. The commotion jolted Libertus and Pelna wide awake, and at the same time, harshly throwing both Nyx and Briony to the other side of the minivan.

Before they could even complain about Crowe’s ghastly driving, she yelled with an alarming urgency: “We have company! Two iron giants up ahead on the road!”

They did not need to be told twice: the four made haste in the backseat and started gearing up for battle.

Nyx wasted no time and began firing instructions: “Pel, ready your explosives.”

“I gotcha fam!” Pelna eagerly nodded.

“Lib, I’m pretty sure you know what to do.”

“Obviously,” Libertus cheerily grinned.

“Briony, stay here with Crowe—conjure a barrier if things get ugly.”

Briony was still peeking through the window, and blurted out, “Guys, wait, something’s not right. There’s something—“

The rest of her warning remained unheard of when Nyx burst out of the vehicle with Pelna and Libertus, running towards the other side where the daemons lurked. He would have admired the beautiful view of the majestic pine trees of the Galahdian forest if it weren’t for these daemons smack dab in the middle of the road.

Nyx summoned all his strength, wielded his weapon, and prepared to aim for the nearby red giant. He threw one of his kukris for a warp strike, and it gracefully… plummeted on the ground.

_What the actual fuck—_

“Shit, shit, fucking shit—” Libertus was running towards Nyx, panicked for the same obvious reason. He dragged Nyx behind a nearby collapsed tree trunk where Pelna already positioned himself. “I can’t cast an invisibility spell!”

“Neither can I warp strike, brothas,” Pelna confirmed Nyx’s worst nightmares. “Are we in deep shit or are we in _really_ deep shit?”

Nyx tried to collect his rampaging thoughts and remained calm in this shitstorm. He quickly looked around to examine the terrain. Apart from the daemon giants that slowly made their way toward their direction, there was nothing out of sort, no Imperial troopers in sight. It was when he squinted to get a good look of the approaching daemons that a sheer film of light caught his eye, a delicate wave of mist and gossamer.

“They fucking jammed the area,” Nyx seethed in his realization. “Pelna, can you check if you can hack through a nearby system and figure out the source of this bullshit?”

Pelna pulled up his device. “No luck. They also fucked the comms signal up right in its ass.”

Libertus let out a heavy sigh. “Gods. I know this is no time to be impressed but damn the Empire and their strong technology game.” 

“Then I suppose we have to do this the traditional way,” Nyx proposed.

“I see no problem with that.” Pelna smirked and clasped a firm hand over Nyx's and Libertus's shoulders. “Fellas, if today’s the day I get crushed by a giant, please tell Crowe I’ve been in love with her the moment I saw her—”

Libertus rolled his eyes. “Save that theatrics and tell her that yourself, idiot—”

“How about we focus and get this over with?” Before he could even hear Pelna’s response, Nyx bolted out of hiding and onto the open road, fiercely charging towards one iron giant. The clashing of metal against metal thrummed in the air, and Nyx’s dexterity in battle sans the power of kings was still a force to be reckoned with. He maneuvered to one side when the iron giant swung its blade, which Nyx used to his advantage. He sprung up, quickly hoisted himself onto the sword and climbed the giant’s head with lethal speed, and used all of his strength to gouge the giant’s eyes out. The daemon began to disintegrate into a pool of muck. On the other hand, he saw Pelna and Libertus was also successful in destroying the other giant.

They were about to return to the minivan when a whirlpool of darkness gathered in front of them. In it, emerged not one, not _two_ , but _five_ red giants.

_Well, isn’t this a fucking riot._

Pelna was paralyzed in fear. Libertus could only helplessly yank both Pelna and Nyx to signal their retreat. “Nyx, I think we need to run this time around—”

“I was thinking the same thing!”

The three of them ran as fast as they could back to their vehicle haphazardly hidden in the bushes. It was odd, because Nyx looked back for a second, and he saw one of the red giants _running_ after them. It was fairly slow, but still, it ran like its life depended on it. As far as his knowledge of the daemon bestiary was concerned, giant types of daemons were not known for their speed—and they weren't supposed to run like _that._ _This must be what Drautos meant with a different breed of monsters lurking around here,_ Nyx entertained the realization as quickly as they sprinted for their lives.

Libertus waved at Crowe and motioned for her to start the engine. Nyx saw Briony was also waiting outside. He was about to instruct her to get in the van when she screamed a warning.

“Guys, watch out!”

Briony raised both of her hands, and Nyx was only able to glimpse that the red giant on their tail was about to take a swing of its sword when a biting coldness swept the surroundings. They even ran faster this time; in a blink of an eye, frost covered the earth, freezing the daemons into gigantic glaciers. A second later, they were pulverized to dust.

“Are you trying to freeze us to death?” Nyx snapped when he got back to Briony and Crowe, still heaving his breath. “And you could’ve hit us with that!”

“Well, sorry if I was only trying to help!” Briony bit back.

“That’s your help? By casting a spell… wait.”

_She was able to cast a spell?_

“What now, hero?” Briony insisted, hands on her waist. Nyx looked at Pelna and Libertus. They all shared an intriguing sentiment.

Crowe witnessed their brief exchange of glances. “You guys, what’s wrong—”

“There are jammers,” Libertus said, breaking the pause. “You see the filmy thing around? It’s still here.”

“And right now, my theory is that it keeps the power of kings from reaching this vicinity,” Nyx noted. “None of us were able to do our usual magic tricks, if you know what I mean.”

“Having said that, our Ronnie shouldn’t have been able to pull that really helpful magic just now,” Pelna added.

All four of them stared at Briony in wild disbelief.

“How about we save this talk later before another hoard of fuckers come up and kill us? You know, find a safe place, yeah?” Briony suggested as calmly as she could. The look on her face was visibly inhabited by the same confusion and bafflement. To provide assurance to her comrades, she said, “So far, I’m just as clueless as you guys are.”

Crowe crossed her arms and agreed. “Ronnie’s right. Nyx, Lib—this is your territory. Any good ideas?”

“I know just the place,” Nyx said. “Everyone, get in. I’ll drive this time.”

 


	4. Briony Clark

Briony instantly made a mental list of all the possibilities and even the most far-fetched theories which could somehow help explain their earlier icy phenomenon. In her head, it went like this:

  1. _A snowstorm. (But it’s fucking summer???)_
  2. _Global warming? (In relation to point 1.)_
  3. _An Imperial machination that generates ice. (Most plausible.)_
  4. _Some other daemon’s doing. (Check bestiary or with Sania?)_



There was a fifth point, but Briony hesitated to acknowledge it. For her, it was the only theory that she _didn’t_ want to be true, not because it was completely ridiculous, but because she was terrified that it was the only thing that _made sense._ She refused to believe the mere idea of it. But she felt it—she felt _her—_ and to easily dismiss the fact of that familiar presence would be foolish.

5. _Gentiana_

The time Briony saw her last, everything was on fire. It had been twelve years since the Empire invaded Fenestala Manor, twelve years since she watched her mother got dragged away by General Glauca, and it was Gentiana who quelled the flames that engulfed the estate by the time Cor arrived to her rescue. As a child, Briony never quite understood Gentiana’s nature, yet she still found her fascinating all the same. With her pitch-black hair flowing so beautifully in her black and white gown, Gentiana exuded mystery; yet her gentle green eyes and her amiable face reflected an abundant kindness.

Having to spend a great deal of her childhood in Tenebrae meant Briony had her fill of miracles and magic; though she was unable to wield it on her own back in the day, just watching the people around her was more than enough to enchant her. There was Queen Sylva, who radiated light and healing just by her sheer benevolence. And if Candela spoiled Briony with a flicker of flame in their dramatic flair of narrating the stories and myths of old, Gentiana sculpted tiny ice figurines out of thin air and made them dance at her fingertips just to cheer little Briony up from a horrible day. (For Briony, her mood would often turn sour after her math lessons—she hated the subject with a passion. Gentiana was always there to keep her company in her times of distress.)

Luna had mentioned to Briony that Gentiana was some sort of High Messenger, but Briony felt that there was more to it than that. At one point, Briony—whose young mind brimmed with utmost curiosity—boldly peppered Gentiana with questions about her powers. Gentiana was kind enough to answer her easily with Cosmogony references, which Briony found less helpful and more puzzling. Still, she adored Gentiana, and Gentiana only returned Briony’s adoration with warm affection.

And Briony was so certain she sensed it earlier when a blizzard materialized out of her hands. There was a distinct difference between wielding the Lucian monarch’s magic and the sorcery that she unwittingly summoned moments ago. There was no mistaking that blessed juxtaposition of the warmth of Gentiana’s protection in that sheets of frost and ice. That spell could only be Gentiana, and Gentiana only meant the home that once was hers.

And if Briony would be so permitted to admit, that freezing cold made her miss home so terribly. She ached to go back to Tenebrae. She wanted to turn back time. Home was Luna and Ravus, Pryna and Umbra, and Queen Sylva and her mother—but gods, _gods,_ she hated herself for entertaining the idea of escaping. She couldn’t stand the very notion of abandoning Cor after everything he went through, after every ounce of their sacrifice, after twelve grueling years, after that assault three days ago. 

 _What am I thinking, why am I so stupid and selfish to consider this_ —

“Ronnie?” Crowe’s gentle voice knocked her out of her tormented mind. Briony blinked, and it took a while before Crowe’s messy chocolate hair tied in an updo, her crooked smile, and her brown eyes came into focus. “Hey, you alright? And don’t you dare say you’re fine, ‘cause you and I both know—”

“I’m...” Briony hesitated. She urgently wiped her eyes before the tears threaten to spill. Aside from Crowe, Pelna and Libertus were both staring at her with worry. Briony was relieved that Nyx was driving, else she would have suffered through another one of his intense stares again. She bit her lip, trying to maintain eye contact with Crowe, and said, “I’m just trying to think, that’s all.“

“You’re always thinking, Brie Cheese,” Nyx said from the driver’s seat. The rosy glow of dawn that seeped through the windows flickered to a warm amber as they passed through a tunnel. “You never _not_ think.”

Briony was about to counter when Crowe sneered. “Oh, shut up, Nyx.”

“By the way,” Pelna butted in, “thank you for saving our asses out there. I mean, it’s still a mystery how you did it but… we owe you, Ronnie.”

“Pel’s right,” Libertus added. “Thanks for looking out for us.”

“You guys have any luck yet with your devices?” Nyx promptly asked.

“Nope, no signal still.” Crowe answered.

“Same goes for me,” Libertus sighed. “Man, this is gonna be one heck of an assignment if we don’t have anything _working_ …”

Pelna sat back. “We’ll figure this out once we get settled. And Ronnie… we’ll try to figure out yours, too, okay?”

“Okay.” Briony timidly nodded. “I just… I have some speculations on how it could have happened, but I wish I could explain it without sounding completely crazy—”

“Oh sweetcakes,” Pelna leaned forward, the yellow light that flickered as they continued to drive through the tunnel illuminated the wicked grin on his face. “We already live in a crazy world that we’ve embraced this insanity as our norm, our truth, our _gospel—”_

Libertus groaned. “Basically, what Pel is trying to say is we’ll hear you out.”

“Right.” Briony exhaled and smiled in relief. “Thank you, really. Oh and Pelna, that was actually pretty wise and poetic.”

“Well, there’s the smile we know and love!” Pelna teased with another one of his toothy grins, and then he backpedaled, “Uh and wait, did you guys hear that? Ronnie said I was wise _and_ poetic. For the love of Shiva. I am unworthy! Oh and you don’t mind me calling you Ronnie? I know we’re not BFFs _yet_ —”

“Pelna, it’s fine.” Briony laughed. In all her years in the Glaive, she never really had the chance to hangout with Pelna. Underneath his scruffy exterior accentuated by his unkempt black hair and the stubble that he allowed to grow wildly on his face, Briony had observed that he was often a man of few words. However, Briony had noticed that whenever Pelna was with the company of Nyx and Luche and all the other boys, he could ignite their conversation simply with his one-liner wisecracks. Crowe had testified that once, Pelna had charmed the shit out of a gorgeous socialite on one of their night-outs with nothing but his matchless humor, which surprised the rest of them who were there to witness the spectacle. Briony was not surprised; though they had spared each other short greetings and a few small talks once in awhile, she was aware of Pelna’s easygoing nature. It was only now that Briony began to realize that there was a Pelna-shaped hole in her life that only his wit and cleverness could fill.

“Ronnie, please don’t encourage Pel too much,” Crowe chimed in, narrowing her eyes at Pelna. “You’re only boosting his ego, and we can’t really have that.”

Pelna gave Crowe one hell of a devilish smirk. “Crowe, if you don’t stop being mean to me, I swear I will fall in love with you—”

Crowe only hissed at him. “Well, good luck with that—“

“Sorry for cockblocking this ongoing sexual tension, ladies and gents,” Nyx suddenly cut in before Pelna could even throw in another remark. Nyx pulled the minivan to a stop and said, “We have finally reached our destination.”

As soon as they stepped out of the vehicle, they were welcomed by the soothing sound of the waves. The taste of seawater swept with the comforting breeze. From a distance, they could see the ocean, and the morning sun peeked through the curtains of gray clouds that hung heavy from the pinkish sky.

“So good to be back,” Libertus yawned, stretching out his arms.

“Is this…” Crowe began, and a smile grew on her face.

“This, my friends—” Nyx spread his arms to gesture to the entire landscape of pristine white sand meeting a sea of lonely gray—“is the best of Galahd.” He pointed to the odd little stone house sitting by the beach, comfortably surrounded by palm trees. “And that over there is my home. Welcome to our humble abode.”

 

* * *

 

As Nyx ushered them all inside, Briony found it equally amazing and unsettling that a place so modest and charming was the childhood home of the _most annoying person on the planet._

“Make yourselves comfortable, I’m just gonna get some stuff,” Nyx announced before he scrambled up a winding set of stairs. Meanwhile, Crowe, Libertus, and Pelna took it upon themselves to share the wide leather couch that sat snugly in a room full of both potted and hanging plants, oils paintings, and medium-sized bookcases.

The entire space of the house was fairly small, and yet it ingeniously combined a tiny kitchen, and a dining area enough to accommodate a family of four. Briony gingerly paced around the room, careful not to step on any artwork or any possible living creature hiding in the shadows. There was a small television perched directly across the couch. She briefly scanned along the stone-cobbled walls impressively arrayed with framed illustrations and photographs. As she moved from one quaint corner to the next, she spied some old portraits sitting atop a chest of drawers. She stopped when she found a familiar face.

“Is this you, Libertus?” She cheekily snickered and pointed at a photograph of a stocky boy bearing a round face, and that distinct blue eyes which could only be his. He was standing by a riverbank, beaming with a beautiful raven-haired girl holding a fish in one hand. Libertus still looked almost the same, except the massive change in his height, the light wisps of facial hair, and the hardened, war-beaten maturity that was displayed in his blue eyes and painted all over his face.

Libertus lazily rose from his seat and peeked over Briony’s shoulder. “Oh gods, I can’t believe they saved that one.” He embarrassingly shook his head. “I think I was around eleven—”

“Can I see—“ Crowe excitedly shuffled to check and crooned when she saw the photo— _"aww,_ Lib! Look at you and your chubby cheeks!”

“Can you not!” Libertus complained miserably. Crowe and Briony threw him a teasing look and giggled, severely amused.

Pelna squeezed himself in between Crowe and Libertus, looping both of his arms around their shoulders. “Oh, Libertus freaking Ostium!” He exclaimed when he saw the photo in question. “You innocent cinnamon roll with cream cheese frosting! Seriously, brother—what happened to you now?”

“Fuck you, Pelna,” Libertus scoffed. Pelna flashed him a shit-eating grin in response. 

“And who’s this lovely girl in the photo?” Briony finally asked.

“That’s…” the sneaking sadness in Libertus’s voice was noticeable. “Selena. Nyx’s sister.”

“Oh, yeah... that’s right,” Pelna wistfully nodded.

Briony had heard of how Nyx lost his sister during Niflheim’s invasion in Galahd. Losing one’s family was already a palpable feeling for Briony that even though her and Nyx didn’t usually meet eye to eye, she need not ask to know the kind of unspeakable grief that Nyx carried with him.

And though no grieving words between them had ever been spoken, Briony had witnessed Nyx grieve over Selena, once in his bedridden state.

It was only her third month in the Glaive when Nyx sustained a serious injury during one of their operations in the western Lucian borders. Captain Drautos was fuming in both grief and frustration that they had to pull back so soon—most of their seasoned soldiers returned heavily wounded, and a lot of their comrades lost their lives in that battle. The Kingsglaive was severely understaffed in their medical department, and knowing that Briony was one of the adequate medics among his recruits, Captain Drautos brought Nyx under her care post-haste. He even shared in ruthless admonition that Nyx had been utterly reckless and asinine to let a bandersnatch almost trample him to death.

Briony was hard at work treating his wounds when she heard a faint whimper.

_I’m sorry, Selena—it should have been me._

Nyx cried and whispered the words over and over. Briony stayed by his side to make sure he didn’t mess up his stitches, and altogether, she soothed him and helped him battle his demons as he lay unconscious in the Kingsglaive infirmary.

If Briony thought about it, that was actually the time she considered to finally befriend Nyx. She always had a particular difficulty in making new friends without being awkward; in fact, she wouldn’t have been friends with Crowe and Libertus if they hadn’t talked to her first and coaxed Briony with their steadfast support during her first few months. Even if she was initially assigned in the Glaives' medical unit, adjusting with the military life had been particularly brutal for Briony. All those years training with Cor may have prepared her fighting prowess, but it did not prepare her for the pressure of their responsibilities as a soldier in service to the Lucian crown. Still, Briony wanted it. She ached for the challenge. And she wouldn't have survived any of her trying times if it weren't for Crowe and Libertus; Briony found a sister in Crowe, and a brother in Libertus, and Briony couldn't be more thankful.

And she wanted to find a friend in Nyx, too.

At some point, Briony even thought Nyx could be her mentor. Nyx was one of the best soldiers in the force, and Briony felt that she could learn a lot from his fighting experience. She even told herself that time that maybe, once Nyx woke up, she could try and ask…

But when she overheard Nyx talking to Captain Drautos, Briony’s sense of relief—a relief that finally, he had gained consciousness after three terrifying nights of his horrible fits of nightmares—was immediately replaced by a crushing disbelief when she heard Nyx say how _Briony shouldn’t even be in the Glaive._

She heard Captain Drautos raising an argument taking her side, but she couldn’t bear to listen further; as quickly as she could, she tried to recall if she had done anything to earn that casual dismissal from Nyx. She must have misheard things, or taken their conversation out of context, but Briony was overwhelmed with a mindless reproach that her knee-jerk reaction was to discard the idea of being friends with him.

But if Briony thought about it—like _really, genuinely, honest-to-goodness_ thought about it—she didn’t really hate Nyx, contrary to popular belief. Or rather, she didn’t _want_ to hate him. Sure, from time to time, she hated his guts, and she hated how he had the ability to be an arrogant ass even in the face of fucking danger, but she still respected him as a soldier and his exceptional skills in combat—even if begrudgingly so.

Nyx had wounded her pride—and Briony was compelled to prove Nyx everyday for the rest of his bloody life that he was wrong about her.

So for the sake of self-preservation, she chose not to confront him about it. Briony momentarily walked away to recollect her composure and sense of duty. She returned to the room to administer Nyx’s treatment with plain indifference, despite his typical attempts of pompous antics to make things light and breezy. She simply focused at the task at hand, which was to nurse Nyx back to good health. Briony had never even mentioned a word to him about that three consecutive nights she spent taking care of him in the middle of his nightmares.

Briony would have probably taken advantage of their unusually nice conversation back in the van to finally change the course of their relationship, but...

_Perish the thought._

Briony shivered at the memory of it; she decided to pluck the entire thread of thought out of her head and returned to studying the other photos, discreetly looking for an image of a younger Nyx that she could use for future prank material.

Instead, what she found was a picture of a more grown-up Selena together with a woman who was strikingly a spitting image of Nyx’s sister.

 _This must be his mom. They’re so devastatingly beautiful it hurts,_ Briony thought in awe. Pelna also saw the photo Briony was looking at.

“Well, I gotta say—good looks run in this family, alright,” Pelna lightheartedly remarked. Which was awfully true, much to Briony’s chagrin. She could see that Nyx was wretchedly handsome. He possessed a body of a warrior chiseled by countless battles, and with his shock of brown hair subtly decorated with braids, combined with his magnetic blue eyes and a jawline so sharp it could cut a tree in half, Briony was not surprised to find that anyone from Nyx’s family was blessed by perfect physical aesthetic.

“Ugh, I hate this. Nyx doesn’t like any of his photos in display,” Libertus sighed, defeated that he couldn’t turn the tables of awkward adolescent pictures against his very own best friend. Briony’s curiosity was suddenly piqued by the image of a young Nyx. “If you guys could only see him back then—”

“I think I could help you with that,” a gentle and mellifluous voice startled them out of their trip to the Ulrics’ memory lane. Their attention was immediately drawn to the woman standing in the doorway. She wore her jet-black hair with traces of gray strands in a low bun, and a familiar smile eased on her solemnly beautiful, aging face.

_She’s the woman in the photo._

“Ma!” Libertus rushed to her and wrapped her in a hug. “So good to see you!”

“I’m glad to see you, too, Libertus,” he let her go, and she gently took Libertus’s face with her hands. “Oh my, what have you been eating?” Her voice sounded viciously concerned. “You and Nyx have only been binging on junk food, aren’t you?”

Libertus gave her a tight-lipped smile and shrugged. “Well, Insomnian food sucks, so.”

“Not the point,” she countered sternly. Even from a short distance, Briony could see the motherly affection that brewed in her warm brown eyes. _Just like mom,_ Briony thought ruefully; and it was only a small moment, but she swore she shouldn’t have allowed the sharp pang of bitter emptiness and resentment that snuck up on her chest. Briony rallied to push the ghastly feelings away with every fragment of her fragile might, all with a pleasant smile.

The woman finally swept her attention to Briony, Crowe, and Pelna, who were all huddled side by side, gawking at her as if they had just seen a Galahdian goddess of old come to life. The look on Pelna’s face said that he was damn ready to bend the knee.

“I see you brought your friends!” she said ecstatically.

“Oh shit, right—” Libertus blurted out, and in his face showed the honest admission of his forgetfulness. He said, “Guys, meet Nyx’s mom. She likes being called Ma, Mum, Pimp Momma, whatever tickles your fancy.”

“Ma should be fine, darlings.” She warmly smiled, the small lines wrinkling in the corner of her eyes.

Libertus continued, “Ma, this is—”

“Pelna must be this fetching young man." Nyx’s mother was already walking towards them as she finished Libertus’s introduction on his behalf. Libertus was wide-eyed in surprise. She took Pelna’s hand and shook it.

“It’s, uh… a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Pelna Khara at your, um… at your humble service.” Pelna was obviously blushing and recklessly tongue-tied. Briony bit her lip to control herself from giggling. 

She moved to Crowe next. “And you’re Crowe, I take it?”

“You’re so _beautiful—“_ Crowe helplessly confessed the compliment under her breath and Pelna elbowed her to get her shit together. Nyx’s mother only smiled at her. “I mean, hi. Yes. Me. I’m Crowe. Altius. Crowe Altius.”

Lastly, she walked over to Briony, who was trying to force a smile that wouldn’t make her look like an idiot. Briony caught a whiff of the mild scent of cinnamon emanating from her, and Briony tried her best not to tackle her into a hug.

“And you must be Briony,” Nyx’s mother began. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you from Nyx lately.”

Briony was taken aback with that bit of information, that all she managed to say as the confusion wrinkled her face: “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re the girl he can’t stop talking about. Tiny bean with a foreign accent, as he would like to say. He’s been telling me that you're quite a challenge, making his life a living hell.” It was bizarre how there was no hint of animosity nor any trace of hostility in her voice, despite what she just said. All Briony could hear was an eagerness, a tinge of adoration and enjoyment that only left her baffled. In the background, she could hear Libertus, Crowe, and Pelna laughing. Her face must have creased in her utter surprise and bewilderment.

_Tiny bean with a foreign accent? And I’m making his life a living hell? That piece of—_

Nyx’s mother took her hand and held her with scorching tenderness. “I know he didn’t mean any of it because he spoke about you so fondly—he said you’ve saved his life more than he could remember. And I can’t thank you enough for taking care of my son. And goodness, I never thought you’d be such a darling up close, with such beautiful eyes...”

_He’s been talking about me to his mother fondly? Is that guy fucking kidding me?_

Before Briony could even get a chance to get a proper clarification, a ruckus came from upstairs.

“Guys, I’m _so_ sorry to keep you waiting—Mom?” Nyx skittered down carrying a map and a medium-sized whiteboard on his right arm, and… a fat, black-and-white cat on the other.

“Finally, my wayward son—” she said, giving Nyx a look that was equal parts chastising and teasing. The cat jumped off from Nyx and casually sauntered towards Briony, which allowed Nyx some room to give his mother a tight one-armed hug. “I talked to you a couple of days back, and you didn’t even mention that you were coming home with your friends!”

“Sorry, Mom—trust me, this was totally unplanned,” Nyx hurriedly answered, placing a quick kiss on the crown of her head. He briefly pulled away to set down the map over the coffee table along with the whiteboard. “We ran into trouble on our way to our destination so here we are. Just making a pitstop, we’ll leave in a few once we—“

“Oh no, you are _not_ going to make a pitstop out of our house, Nyx Ulric—all of you will stay here for the night," she declared with the usual authority of a ferocious mother. Briony was already quite distracted with the cat’s company that she didn’t even bother to protest. On the other hand, Libertus, Crowe, and Pelna just nodded in obedience. Nyx glared at them for taking his mother’s side just like that. His mother even warned, “The inns and hostels around here are either badly damaged or have been made as a hunter outpost. I won’t let anyone walk out of this house—“

“Okay, fine.” Nyx agreed half-heartedly as he was grabbing a bunch of books, building a makeshift stand for the whiteboard. “We’ll stay the night, Mom. And wait a second, where in the world is Whiskey—”

“You mean this pretty baby right here?” Briony gestured to the cat that she was now cradling in her arms. The cat had bright green eyes, and it purred and nuzzled its oddly-spotted face on Briony’s neck.

Nyx watched her in utmost disbelief. “I can’t believe she likes _you,_ of all people.”

“Wait, sorry, she’s saying something—” Briony impishly pressed her ear against Whiskey. “What? You never really liked Nyx?” The cat purred again rather eagerly, as if in response to the question. “Oh my god.” Briony looked at Nyx, feigning shock and mischievously teasing. “Sorry to break it to you, buddy—but I don’t think Whiskey ever liked you. You’ve been living a lie. And how can you name this magnificent creature after some alcoholic beverage?”

“My sentiments exactly,” Nyx’s mother crossed her arms and chimed in agreement.

“Mom, you’re not supposed to take _her_ side,” Nyx argued, “I’m your _son._ Also, Briony—why not set Whiskey down so we can find out where her allegiance lies?”

“Are you sure you’re ready to face the truth?”

“Do. It.”

“Fine.”

“You’re on.”

Briony gently set Whiskey on the floor. But Whiskey only stayed by Briony’s side, nudging her fluffy face against her leg, begging to be snuggled again. Everyone burst out laughing, and Nyx sighed in disappointment.

“Un _-fucking-_ believable—“

His mother shot him a sharp glare. “Nyx, _language.”_

“Un _-freaking-_ believable!“

“She really took a liking to you, Ronnie.” Libertus grinned; Briony picked up Whiskey again and snuggled her as Briony sat on the couch. “That little devil gave me hell before she even let me pet her.”

Pelna chided, “And it’s rather amazing how your cat is honest about who she _likes,_  huh, Nyx—”

“Whatever—anyway, okay! Back to business, we’ve got pressing matters to discuss!” Nyx half-smiled and shrugged in a hurry, in what Briony considered as a mark of his defeat. Next to Briony, Crowe and Pelna sat beside each other, still throwing Nyx nasty knowing looks; Libertus took the armrest of the couch next to Briony as his seat. Nyx turned to his mother. “Mom, you mind if I use some of your books?”

“Do as you please,” she answered, still smiling from ear to ear. “I’ll leave you guys at it. Meanwhile, I’ll brew you guys some coffee.”

“Sure. Thanks, Mom.”

As Nyx‘s mother sauntered to the kitchen and busied herself, everyone started to pipe down to listen. “Okay, so. Onto important things,” Nyx began and stood in front of the board, hands on both sides. “Let’s write down what we need know.”

Nyx scooped a marker out of his pocket. In his chicken-shit handwriting, Nyx started to scribble words: _location of jammers._ Then, he said: “I called Maxx, see if he could lend us a hand about this. He’s on his way here.”

“Mad Maxx agreed to help you out?” Libertus was suddenly skeptical. “And how in the world were you able to call him?”

“Wait, who’s this Mad Maxx?” Crowe asked.

“He’s a veteran hunter,” Nyx explained, “and he knows Galahd like the back of his hand. And I told him this is way too serious for him to even pass up. And I used my landline. Surprisingly, it still works.”

“Okay, I guess we have to wait for this Mad Maxx then,” Pelna said, and he turned to Briony. “In the meantime—Ronnie, can you try your magic again?”

Briony nodded, and she let go of Whiskey. The cat jumped down the floor, and somehow still remained at Briony’s feet. “Sure… I can’t really promise anything, but here goes.”

She tried to cast an omniguard. There was a thin haze of light that enveloped Briony, but it didn’t last that long. She tried a tiny fire next, and then blizzard. “Nope,” Briony sighed, bothered and confused. “I… I don’t think I can do it this time.”

Crowe hummed, contemplating on their crisis. She also tried to summon her magic, but no such luck was on her side, too. And then, her eyes brightened when she turned to Briony and asked: “You said you had your theories, right?”

“Does this have something to do with you being born in Tenebrae?” Pelna mused out loud. “Not to sound a creeper, but I found that tidbit out through Libertus, so—“

Briony was surprised with Pelna’s astute assumption, so she answered, though hesitantly: “It’s fine. And, I’m not exactly born in Tenebrae. I actually have no idea where I was born and how my mother found me, but… Tenebrae is— _was_ the home I grew up with. And I grew up with the Fleurets, so I’ve seen a lot of magic when I was a kid. But I can’t cast them back then—“

“Wait, hold up—“ Pelna raised a hand, gimlet-eyed—“you grew up with the family of _Oracles?”_

Briony nodded.

“So you knew Lady Luna?”

“Yup—“

He stared at Briony with keen interest. “So is she, like, on a scale of one to goddess divine, how would you say—“

Crowe had to slap Pelna on the back of his head.

He yelped. “Hey!”

“Don’t mind Pelna,” Crowe said nonchalantly. "He just has a huge crush on Princess Lunafreya.”

Briony smiled in spite the rush of sadness. “I wish I could help you, Pelna, but it’s been more than a decade since I saw her last—“

“Hey, Ronnie,” Crowe interrupted her, firmly taking Briony’s hand. "You don’t need to tell _any_ of this to us if it brings back painful memories. We can look for other ways—“

“No, it’s okay.” Briony smiled weakly. Whiskey purred as she leapt back in Briony’s lap. She paused, pondering on how she would start, and then she soldiered on, “So, anyway. There was this woman. Her name was Gentiana. Luna said she was a Messenger. I… I remember when the Empire set a part of the manor on fire… I think King Regis had already escaped with Noct that time. Well, it’s kind of a blur. But I could remember that fire, and then Gentiana putting it out with some crazy powerful ice spell, and then when I came to, Cor was there. And that spell earlier felt the same, like that one twelve years ago.”

“A Messenger… like, the ones in the Cosmogony?” Crowe asked.

“Yup, the very same.” Briony replied, absentmindedly rubbing Whiskey’s back.

“This may be related,” Crowe said, “but back in the orphanage where I came from, our matron can’t stop talking about those. She was obsessed, even calling Messengers as her brothers and sisters. She was the first one to recognize that I had a strange aptitude for magic. I even saw her draw water out of parched land. I thought she was crazy, so I ran away. I never believed her and magic, until I joined the Glaive.”

“Brothers and sisters… there are twenty-four of them, if I’m not mistaken,” Briony added. “And they can take any form or shape—“

“—and may serve one specific Astral should they choose. Learned that from our old Johanna, too.” Crowe finished, smiling proudly.

A brief silence settled in the room. Nyx was the first one to break it. “Okay. So if this Gentiana, or any of the Messengers, could be a possible source of magic—do you know any way to, maybe… summon them? Ask them to help us out, maybe?”

“I don’t think they can be summoned that easily,” Briony said, pursing her lips. “I know they can commune to mere mortals like us, but I don’t think it’s in their nature to be in someone’s beck and call…”

Pelna wearily leaned back against his seat and shook his head. “I can’t believe we now live in a time in which we can’t function without King Regis’s magic.”

“We _can_ function without it, Pel,” Nyx said, covering the pen and inserting it behind his ear. “But with the type of daemons running around, I don’t think we can _survive_ without it.”

“I hate to say it but Nyx’s right,” Briony admitted. “We can’t exactly go out there and expect to infiltrate an Imperial facility, as powerless as we are now.”

“And as a Mage—without the Lucian royalty’s magic, I’m literally rendered useless,” Crowe sharply added. And it was reasonable for her to express her sentiments. Crowe was the best Mage in the Glaive, and with their situation right now, not having the power of kings on their side was similar to erasing all the words out of existence and still forcing a writer to write.

Libertus sighed, rolling up his sleeves. “So our hopes now will only rely on us destroying those jammers first before we can sneak into the Magitek facility—“

A knock on the door abruptly halted their discussion. Nyx opened the door, and a tall, burly man was standing casually on the doorway.

“Finally. What’s up, Maxx? It’s like you haven’t aged one bit!” Nyx motioned for the man named Maxx to come inside.

“I’m flattered, Nyx Ulric—want to know the secret? Lots of _sex.”_ Maxx roared a laughter enough to light up an entire city. He only arrived mere seconds ago, but his energy was contagious. “And it’s so nice to see you and that pretty face of yours!” He greeted Nyx into a tight hug and lifted him up from the ground.

“Yup, man! Same—” Nyx choked out, struggling to breathe. “I’d appreciate if you put me down now—“

“Hah, sure buddy.” Maxx put him down and slapped Nyx playfully in the face. “Hi there, Pimp Momma!”

“Hello, Maxx,” Nyx’s mom called out from behind the counter. “Haven’t seen you around lately.”

“Well, busy huntin’ and lurkin’ and being gay. Anyway!” Maxx walked past Nyx as carefully as he could to avoid the hanging plants that were blocking his head. “Hello, lads. Name’s Maxwell Tarrant. Call me Maxx. Double x, because I’m fucking extra.”

Apart from Maxwell Tarrant's daunting size (Briony guessed he was the same height as Gladio—or even taller), Maxx oozed with so much charm and danger. He wore his sandy blonde hair in a high bun, equipped his quadruple piercings on both ears like a rockstar, and he made the Hunter’s garb appear like a fashion statement, perfectly complementing his sunkissed skin. And just by looking at him and his exquisitely sculpted arms, Briony could hear the sound of all her bones breaking. His physique was obviously built to kill, but Maxx’s megawatt grin and playful demeanor could mislead even his enemies.

“You folks are raising hell against the Empire’s brand new machinations as we speak. I actually thought you were fighting with them in Western Galahd,” Maxx noted. Briony almost forgot the existence of the other operation.

“Nah, Captain assigned the five of us to a different kind of fighting,” Nyx replied.

“So, without further ado, here are some equipment you can use—” Maxx began handing each of them a set of mobile devices and earpieces. Whiskey purred when Maxx approached Briony; Maxx scratched Whiskey behind her ear. The both of them seem to be well acquainted. “Your Crown City-issued phones will be useless around here, I’m afraid.”

“Yup, we sure noticed—thank you for these,” Libertus kindly acknowledged Maxx’s generosity.

“Now, about those jammers,” Maxx said, his sudden shift to a serious tone already meant he did not intend to waste time dilly dallying around. He approached the group closer as they huddled.

“There are three of those things scattered all over—” Maxx hovered around the map that was rolled out over the table. He snatched the pen perched behind Nyx’s ear, and he pointed at the most eastern lump of islands, clustered far outside the Crown City.

“One is at the outskirts, near the abandoned town of Lucca **—** “ he encircled an area in the northwest area of the map. “The second is at Rolling Hills—” he drew another circle southwest of the island. “And the third is across Galahd River, just beyond the bridge. The Magitek facility is at the coast of Evergreen Beach—“ he traced an area along the eastern shoreline just ways above the Galahd River— “and from what we know, there isn’t much Imperial troops around that area. Which is strange… However, most of the hunters have spotted unusual daemons around those parts. I’ve asked my men to help—they’ll serve as a distraction in case anything goes awry.”

“Thanks, man. We owe you,” Nyx said in gratitude.

“Least I could do, Nyx. You’ve been saving a lot of our hides. ‘Bout time we do something in return. And I’m going with you guys—you mentioned of your magic dilemma, so hope you folks don’t mind if a normal guy’ll help you navigate the Galahdian terrain to get your powers back.”

“We need all the help we can get at this point,” Libertus said.

“And with that, I suggest we go in pairs,” Nyx proposed. “We can hit those three jammers simultaneously, then we set out to the facility.”

“If I may,” Maxx interrupted, “the one in Rolling Hills would require an assistance of a skilled hacker, and I’ve already tried doing my best, but I suppose my best isn’t good enough—“

“Then I’m your guy.” Pelna offered, a proud smile plastered on his face.

Maxx smiled and gave Pelna a thumbs-up. “Perfect.”

“I’ll take the one in Lucca,” Libertus volunteered. “That’s my turf.”

“Then I’m coming with Libertus,” Crowe jumped in.

Pelna considered Nyx and Briony. “Then that leaves the two of you to take out the one in Galahd River.”

”Right,” Briony impassively acknowledged. She tried her hardest not to scream, so she pulled Whiskey closer for comfort. “Sure.”

Crowe cheekily smiled. “Please try not to kill each other.” 

“Well, tell that to her." Nyx scowled and jerked his head towards Briony.

Briony only smiled, but her oddly-paired eyes spelled death. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”

“Oh, sure you’ll try.”

“Watch me.”

Maxx laughed. “Wow, do they always fight like a married couple?”

“We are not a married couple!” Briony and Nyx both said in cutting-edge unison. Snatches of laughter erupted from everyone.

“On second thought, we might as well be,” Nyx casually announced. Nyx gave Briony a smirk so condescending that she wanted to punch it off his pretty face. “Can’t wait to work with you, partner.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eagerly rubs both hands* I am such a whore for the lore that I cannot wait to share the rest of my entire scheme for the Cosmogony and the 24 Messengers in this fic.


	5. Gladiolus Amicitia

“You can do better than that, Your Highness!”

Gladio’s gritty voice bellowed throughout the Crownsguard training hall as the room teemed with the resounding echoes of clashing wooden swords. Just like any other training day, Gladio never skipped a beat in whipping Noctis to proper shape.

“I could do infinitely better—“ Noctis swiftly raised his sword to parry Gladio’s blow, which slightly threw him off balance— “if you’d let me use my magic!”

“Ha! As if _that_ would change a thing—“ Gladio quickly sidestepped, effectively avoiding Noctis’s measly attempt to hit him on the side. Noctis lurched forward, but in one swift and solid movement, Gladio swung his weapon against Noctis’s with all his strength, flinging Noctis’s wooden sword out of his hands, plummeting to the ground.

Noctis flopped on the floor in surrender, weary and exhausted. Gladio picked up the sword and returned it to the racks before he sat beside him.

“Impressive. You’re actually getting better,” Gladio cheerily remarked in between breaths, “but do more cardio—for the love of Ramuh, follow the fitness routine I gave you.”

“Can’t you give me a compliment without— _I don’t know—_ giving me any form of physical punishment?” Noctis exhaled.

Gladio laughed. “It’s kind of a package deal. And it’s pretty obvious that you’ve been slacking off.”

With their schedules getting erratic as of late, it had been quite some time since Gladio and Noctis trained together. Normally, Gladio and Noctis had both their afternoon weekends strictly dedicated for intense combat drills and heavy workout routines that Gladio had specifically tailored for the Crown Prince. Noctis, of course, had complained on the sheer severity of Gladio’s almost ruthless attention on his physical wellness. But with both their fathers’ and Cor’s approval, and Ignis positively rallying behind Gladio’s idea of _human torment_ —as Noctis would like to call any form of physical activity—Gladio knew Noctis would be resigned to cooperate, even if his cooperation was marred with the slightest hint of reservation and indignation.

Nevertheless, Gladio was proud of Noctis’s notable progress over the years. Though he was still often met with Noctis’ grumbling from time to time, one that typically earned the brunt of his impatience, Gladio had grown to respect Noctis’s hard-headed guts and unparalleled determination.

Noctis finally hauled himself up and sat cross-legged, groaning in exasperation. Noctis turned to Gladio, who considered him for a minute with a curious look on his face, and then: “Would you mind if I ask you something?”

Gladio rolled his shoulders and answered, “Shoot.”

“Promise you won’t get mad and make me do another circuit?”

Gladio immediately eyed Noctis suspiciously. “Did you get yourself into trouble again?”

“No!” Noctis defensively fired back. “Well, you see—how do I put this…” His mouth furrowed in serious contemplation, pursuing his next words with strained effort. “So, have you—and this is purely hypothetical, okay—but have you ever thought of… or at least imagined—“ he stuttered again, and continued— “like, what you… what you want to be in life if you weren’t the Shield? I mean, have you ever imagined what your dream in life would be if you _weren’t_ an Amicitia?”

There was a sincere and guileless interest in Noctis’s careful and strenuously-framed question that begged Gladio’s blunt expression of honesty. And Gladio, in a startling impulse, had to pose a question of his own in return: “Why do you ask?”

“I’ll explain later. Just… humor me,” Noctis insisted. “So?”

“Well…” Gladio trailed off and paused for a moment to mull over on what he should answer. If he were to be honest, not once in his life had he imagined—nor did he permit himself to entertain—the idea of a different aspiration aside from the one he dutifully lived with pride. He could not remember the time that he ever wished to be someone else; his duty and responsibility had been tempered and forged in him at a very young age; it was his birthright, one that Gladio took seriously, that he had not afforded himself the time to flirt on the subject of another dream, another goal, another life.

 _We Amicitia, the men of this family, are the King’s sworn Shield._ His father, Clarus, took on this role with utmost honour. And Gladio had proudly accepted his father’s mantle even before he came of age, grooming Gladio and molding him to the life he was designed to live.

 _To serve and protect the king even at the expense of our own lives—that is our creed as an Amicitia._ His father had religiously repeated to him the very tenet of their noble house time and again, and Gladio, without question, wholeheartedly acknowledged and understood the depth and breadth of the duty he was bound to fulfill to his future king.

And yet here was Noctis—his liege, his Crown Prince, the  _f_ _uture king_ he had sworn to protect—asking him a question that gave him the luxury of a small moment to allow himself a general citizen’s liberty to consider a path different from his own, a small moment drawing out his personal passions that he never thought he would share out in the open.

“I’d probably be a mountaineer, or a research assistant for Sania,” Gladio finally answered, a thoughtful smile eased on his rugged face. “Something that can get me to bask in the great outdoors.”

“Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise,” Noctis said, snickering. “At least you could put to use all that camping equipment you bought.”

Gladio laughed. “Yeah, that’s actually the point.” He nudged Noctis’s shoulder and asked, “How about you, Your Highness?”

“A pro angler, I guess. Non-stop fishing everyday. Or probably a game developer, too. Or the ones who test a video game before they get released. That sounds fun,” Noctis gushed his choices, beaming. It was an unusual smile that Gladio rarely saw on Noctis’s typically lethargic face.

“That wasn’t much of a surprise, either.” Gladio leaned closer and smiled. “So, what made you ask that question anyway?”

Noctis crossed his arms and hummed pensively. “Well… call it a millennial’s existential query.”

Gladio’s gaze was now intensely fixed on Noctis. “Really? A _millennial’s_ _existential query—_ is this Ronnie rubbing off on you with her smartass tricks?”

“Nope, I swear.” Noctis only shrugged, raising his right hand as act of his good-willed honesty. Kind of. Gladio knew there was more to it, so he took his trump card to a test.

“So you swear upon Lady Luna’s name, and Umbra, and the life of every stray cat here in the Crown City?”

“Okay, that is going _way_ too far.” Noctis dropped his hand and groaned. “Fine.”

Gladio beamed a triumphant grin. “So?”

“Um, so… It’s like this. I overheard the guys from my part-time job what they were going to do after college,” Noctis reluctantly admitted. “And they asked me what my plans are...”

“What did you tell 'em?”

“I told them I’d issue a royal decree that all working hours should all start not earlier than ten a.m. in the morning,” Noctis deadpanned.

Gladio erupted with a laughter that bellowed throughout the training hall. “You know what—I could actually imagine you doing it.”

“Oh yeah? Funny, they said the same thing.” Noctis laughed, too. Then, he said, “So, the existential query was kind of true. I’m… grateful that Dad let me work these part-time jobs. Especially the one at the sushi place. Took some things into perspective. I began to wonder what it’d be like for me if I had the freedom to decide about what I’m gonna do with my life—what it’d be like if my life has not been set for me, you know?

"And then it dawned on me, when my coworkers were sharing all of their goals. If I get to rule one day, I can make sure that people get a chance to fulfill their dreams, I could help create opportunities, and—what’s with that face?”

Gladio didn’t realize that he had been looking at Noctis with a surprisingly solemn smile. “Nothing. Just…I can’t believe I’m saying this but I never thought I’d hear you sound like a real king for one hot second.”

“Um, thanks?” Noctis reached for the back of his head. “For, uh, that. And for indulging my little pipe dream of becoming a pro angler in some alternate universe.”

“Nah, don’t mention it, Noct.” Gladio gave Noctis a gentle slap on the back. “I actually appreciate that we could get to talk like this. And I don’t get it why you thought I’d get mad over something like that.”

“Well, I dunno… I wasn’t sure how you’d take the question. Your family has been loyal to ours, and to ask you about the idea of some other role felt like I was overstepping my bounds—”

“Hey, Noct—it’s completely fine,” Gladio earnestly reassured. It’s not everyday that Noctis, taciturn and reserved as he was, would take his time to candidly open up his thoughts. Noctis often found it difficult to articulate his feelings, and Gladio was highly aware of it ever since they were children. This conversation felt like a monolithic milestone, and Gladio was not keen to let it go to waste. So for good measure, he added, “It’s okay that you confide in me with these kinds of things. I’m not just your Shield—I’m also your _friend._ And you’ve been like a brother to me. So I want you to know that if you need to talk, I’m always all ears, alright?”

Noctis turned to him and smiled. “Alrighty—”

Their heartfelt conversation was rudely interrupted by the rhythmic buzzing of Gladio’s phone.

“Sorry, hold on—” Gladio scooped out his phone from the pocket of his shirt and took a peek.

Amara’s name flashed on his screen as the buzzing continued. That marked the seventh time within the day that she had been trying to reach him to no avail. Gladio only pressed the decline button in pure indifference.

Gladio caught Noctis looking at him with a strange mix of confusion and scorching interest, and the way his mouth slightly quirked was an obvious sign that he was hesitating to get something out of his system.

“Out with it.”

“Why Amara?”

“What do you mean _why—”_

“I mean, why do you like her?”

Gladio regarded Noctis with a curious look, which Noctis only acknowledged with the usual impassive and sluggish expression on his face.

“Because I just do,” Gladio declared, albeit in a rather fragile confidence.

Noctis propped his elbow on one knee and rested his face on his hand, eyeing Gladio in a look that shared both keen interest and mild concern. His curiosity unrelenting, Noctis further probed: “Then pray tell—why didn’t you take her call?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

It was disorienting how the tides of the conversation had shifted. The subject of his relationship with Amara was the last thing Gladio thought he would ever discuss and share with Noctis.

But with Ronnie’s inevitable absence, Gladio had to let out some tempestuous steam before he could combust into flames.

To be fair, Gladio and Amara’s relationship didn’t use to be this problematic on-and-off game of staying and leaving.

And for the record, Gladio did not just _like_ Amara Pax—he was _in love_ with her. He fell for her so hard his heart might have bruised severely. Gladio could still recall the first time he met Amara Pax out in the woods, the precise moment she swept him off his feet.

Amara was a wildlife scientist working closely with Sania Yeager, and she came running up to his camp with a bunch of rare frogs, urgently asking for his help to find a suitable bucket for her amphibian friends. Gladio was quick on his feet and took the beer bottles out of his wheeled Coleman cooler and lent it to her. Amara thanked him profusely for saving her research; she was grinning with childlike vigor, and despite the state of her disheveled hair and her face mired in dirt, Gladio saw how Amara carried herself with such brutal elegance and poise in the midst of her field work. Amara must have caught on his interest that she half-joked that she owed him a date in return for his cooler. But Gladio being Gladio, he smoothly took her up on the offer and asked for her number.

One dinner date led to another. And before Gladio knew it, he was already wrapped around Amara’s little finger. Their mutual attraction blossomed into a romance, and it was palpable how they wore each other’s love like a sickening perfume. For the first six months, he came to know Amara Pax beyond the confines of her scientific study, beyond her noble house, beyond the alluring grace, beyond her riveting smile. She was smart, and funny, and tenacious, and unequivocally, they both shared an unbridled love and passion for science, literature and the outdoors. Gladio took her to camping trips, and Amara seduced him on library dates. Gladio could talk to her about almost anything for days on end, and Amara would do just the same with almost anything that came to her mind. They took their passions to the bed and even out in the open, sinking and drowning on each other’s wildfire chemistry like two people deprived of sustenance; sex became Gladio and Amara’s favorite science, their chosen literature, and gods be good, the wilderness was their most favoured stage above anything else.

Gladio was so sure that he and Amara were the perfect electrifying match made in heaven—or so he thought.

But now, Gladio wasn’t so sure anymore. The latter half of the year he had spent with Amara was a turbulent wave of arguments and disagreements, that he didn’t know how or when it all started. From his training schedule, to the company of people that he considered as friends, all the way to his eating habits, Amara began nitpicking over the tiny details of his life, as if to satisfy some empirical standard of a perfect boyfriend. She even often persuaded him to look a certain way in galas and parties, which he half-heartedly obliged. Gladio stretched his patience, putting a little more effort to understand her, went out of his way to fix his end of things. He graciously held onto the fickle belief that he was, indeed, in love with her.

But Gladio knew he wasn’t any longer.

Somewhere in between the vicious fights, the repetitive breakups, and the sleepless nights, he knew that he already unknowingly fell _out_ of love with Amara long before the realization could ever take shape.

What he wasn’t sure was why something in him stubbornly fought for it. The more both of them tried to make amends and fix things, the more it broke and tore them apart. Gladio was wrestling between the conflict of an aching uncertainty and a nebulous need to make things work; what once was a sweetly nourishing relationship turned into a blood sport, and at this rate, Gladio was running ragged and blistered and all burnt out.

He meant it when he broke up with her that night when Amara made him choose between her and Ronnie. He meant it, he was finally tapping out of the exhausting cycle of kiss and make-up and tear each other apart.

But when Amara showed up in his doorstep a couple of days ago, it was so regrettably stupid of him to let his guard down and get carried away with the glimmer of hope that maybe, _maybe,_ it was still worth a shot.

_How do you even fix something that’s beyond repair?_

In the end of sharing his sentiments, he decided to leave out that complicated part to save Noctis from the idiotic torment that he hurled himself in. Gladio could only let out a weary sigh. “So, yeah. Amara and I… we’re not exactly in good terms as we speak.”

Another pensive look settled on Noctis’s face. “I know I’m not qualified to give my two cents on this matter,” he said, “but it’s weird how I could hear Ronnie say _‘everyone deserves a healthy relationship, so if you’re not happy, get the fuck out’_ kind of advice.”

“Yeah, to an effect, she did say something like that,” Gladio admitted, smiling ruefully. It felt like yesterday since that conversation with Ronnie. Realizing her absence only thickened the weight of Gladio's despair.

Noctis raised an eyebrow. “But why not Ronnie though?”

“What’s Ronnie got to do with this?”

“I mean, have you ever thought of dating her instead?”

Gladio was no longer stranger to the question (almost everyone in the Crownsguard had asked him that), yet he was surprised to hear it from Noctis. Gladio shared his automatic answer: “No. Why?”

“But you guys are really close. Like _too_ close,” Noctis fervently noted. “It never really crossed your mind? Or, you know, no warm fuzzy feeling?”

It was an odd spur of the moment, but even so, Gladio was forced to reassess his current relationship with Ronnie. As far as their history was concerned, he had never seen Ronnie in a way that could merit his consideration to ask her out on a romantic date, or even pursue a relationship outside the realm of their steadfast friendship. The idea felt so… preposterously foreign. He tried to imagine the mere thought of it, and he could see it as clear as day: should Gladio even had the gall to romance the shit out of Ronnie, she would only laugh at him. She knew of Gladio’s complexities and weaknesses and all the lousy tricks and cheesy pick-up lines up his sleeve that Ronnie would downright repel his advances.

And maybe it was the familiarity of Ronnie’s company that he had luxuriously enjoyed for more than a decade, or Ronnie’s absolute tolerance to his reckless affairs—either way, even without the warm, fuzzy feeling, Ronnie was his comfort zone, and Gladio couldn’t afford himself to shake that established paradigm. Gladio loved and adored Ronnie as a trusted friend, and that was more than enough for him to live by.

“Nope,” he answered. “I love Ronnie, but I'm not _in love_ with her. I don’t see her in a romantic way, you know? It’s all purely platonic.”

Noctis eyed him in suspicion. “You don’t sound so sure. You look constipated.”

“What, is it so surprising that I have close friends from the opposite sex?” Gladio finally stood up, and he hauled Noctis up with him.

“No,” Noctis said, brushing off dust from his trousers. “But what’s surprising is that you actually have a human self-control to somehow _remain_ friends with someone from the opposite sex. You usually either flirt or bang. There is no in between.” He shot Gladio a wide, mischievous grin.

“Why, thank you, Your Highness—that honesty was much appreciated,” Gladio sarcastically remarked, rolling his eyes. “Now that makes me want to put you through another round of sparring—“

Gladio was about to tackle Noctis when the prince zipped and warped out of his way, leaving specks of light in its wake.

“You could try!” Noctis yelled from high up above the wooden ceiling beam.

“Nyx shouldn’t have taught you that yet—that’s fucking cheating!” Gladio hollered from below, slightly amused and peeved by Noctis’s reckless display of his abilities.

Just when Noctis dropped from the security of the ceiling to reconvene with a bemused Gladio, Cor casually entered and walked into the room.

“Heya, Cor,” Noctis greeted him with a salute.

“Hello, Your Highness,” Cor amiably replied.

Gladio was surprised to see Cor in the premises that his form of greeting was: “Are you sure you should already be working?”

“Why? What happened?” Noctis immediately asked and whipped his head to Cor’s direction, his curiosity piqued by Gladio’s show of concern. Cor gave Gladio a stern and knowing look; Gladio almost forgot that Noctis had no idea about Cor’s unfortunate incident a couple of days ago. But seeing how Cor was as fit as a fiddle now made it seem like nothing happened.

“It’s nothing, Your Highness," Cor said flatly. Then, he asked, “You mind if I borrow Gladio for a minute?”

“Please take him. He’s all yours,” Noctis nonchalantly offered.

“I’ll be back, you little shit.” Gladio pointed at him. “And get your ass to the treadmills!”

Once they made their way out and shut the door behind them, Gladio quickly apologized to Cor. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine, Gladio.” The urgency and worry finally revealed itself in Cor’s voice. “I won’t beat around the bush but have you… by any chance, have your heard from Ronnie yet?”

“No, not since she left. Why?”

The look on Cor’s face darkened with a sense of foreboding. “I see. Come with me—there are things I need to discuss with you, and it’s safer someplace else.”

 

* * *

 

It was Gladio’s first time in the marshal’s office, and he was not at all surprised that it was as plain and austere as the man who resided in it. There were numerous shelves populated with old books and office binders. The space was similar to his father’s office, but this had less of a homely vibe and more of a corporate salaryman imbued in it; it was sparse, near ascetic in its soulless furnishing. Even the desk in front of him was bland. It had Cor’s laptop, and on the sides were filled with piles of what could be reports. The only thing that added a human element in his office was his cup of coffee.

Cor spread his elbows across his desk. “First things first: while the unit deployed in Western Galahd was successful in taking out the Imperial dreadnaughts and has been gracing all over the news, I just got off from a meeting with your father. The unit deployed in Eastern Galahd for an infiltration mission has been officially reported missing. Ronnie is part of that unit, along with Nyx Ulric.”

Gladio’s heart dropped. “Wait, I thought she was to be in the vanguard—”

“There was a change of plans. Right now, we can’t trace nor track any of them, and it seems like we lost contact immediately on the first day,” Cor explained, and his voice was thick with worry. “Which was why I had to reach out to you. If not me, I know Ronnie would call you sooner or later.”

“Nope. Not a single call or text,” Gladio sadly offered. He was already beside himself, and he helplessly asked: “Is there any way we can find out where she is? Any way to know that she’s safe?”

 _Or alive?_  

“I’ve already exhausted all the available technologies at our disposal, Gladio. At this point, all we could do is hope and wait for their return,” Cor sighed. “I apologize for looping you in along in my worries.”

“It’s fine. I appreciate that you reached out,” Gladio said with a forced smile. “And maybe this is me trying to be optimistic but, I think Ronnie’ll be okay. You trained her, for fuck’s sake. And if it’s any consolation, Nyx’s with her.”

Cor let out a small laugh. “I suppose you’re right. Worrying's not going to do us any good."

There was a brief anxious pause, which Cor eventually broke for the good of both their sanities: "Oh, and about the other thing—” Cor pulled out the drawer from his desk and took out a tiny cardboard box labeled _Draw Lots Advice c/o Ronnie Clark._ He slid the box over to Gladio.

“I almost forgot—Ronnie wanted you to have this before she left for Galahd,” Cor said. “She says you’d need it in case you need her advice while she’s not around.”

Gladio opened the box and saw pieces of paper rolled into little tubes. He took one sheet and unrolled it.

In Ronnie’s creative penmanship, it said: _Don’t fucking do it._

Gladio laughed, “Typical Ronnie. She’s a handful, alright.”

A sad smile graced Cor's face. “Well, you should’ve met her mother.”

It was probably the tiny crack when he said it, but the way Cor’s voice echoed a hollow cauldron of longing, Gladio couldn’t help but steel himself and ask the marshal a question he had been so curious for quite some time.

“She meant something to you, didn’t she? Ronnie’s mom?”

Gladio was expecting he would receive a serious stare. Instead, Cor only ruefully smiled and said, “More than anything.”

In the years that Gladio had known Cor, he saw him as an important mentor figure that he had never seen him _this_ vulnerable. Cor’s reputation had been shaped by his many victories in the battlefield that Gladio would tend to forget that Cor was, in fact, human just like the rest of them.

And in that moment, Gladio did not know what sort of bravery possessed him, or what made him think of the idea when he said: “Please don’t tell me it’s the reason why you got into that brawl.”

Cor eyed him curiously. “What gave you that impression?”

“Men do the most outrageous things for love,” Gladio said with a smile. “And Ronnie was right. It was unlike you to get into a fight—here within the Crown City, no less.”

Cor laughed, and the sound of it was almost too unearthly for Gladio to bear. Cor rarely smiled that his laughter was some sort of a divine miracle.

“It’s partly about that,” Cor finally admitted. “But my perpetrator was more interested with what I had with me. He was after the books I had for Ronnie, and he got away with one of Candela’s Cosmogony books.”

Gladio raised an eyebrow. “Wait, so you know who the guy is?”

“I… can’t say that I do,” Cor hesitated. “He’s a Nif, that much I can tell. He said he wanted more power, and magic, and…”

“And?”

“Magic…” Cor blankly repeated, but it was more to himself, as if he was realizing something that he should have long ago. He mused, “How did I not consider  _that."_

“Why? What is it?”

“I think there’s a way we could ascertain Ronnie’s safety,” Cor announced, his face suddenly brimming with a vague sense of hope. “And it’s time I pay Johanna Valens a visit.”

 


	6. Cor Leonis

On summer nights, the Citadel library possessed an otherworldly silence compared to a typical, average library. Of course, the Citadel library was far from typical to begin with—in its silence, it carried a millennia’s worth of history and a treasure trove of knowledge in all its monolithic shelves. But it was too eerily quiet that Cor, in spite his feeble attempt to walk as soundless as he could, created a leaden echo with every click of his heel. He was simultaneously self-conscious with his own footsteps and strangely troubled by the monotonous sound of it. It was not loud enough to drown out his screaming thoughts.

_I should have never let her join the Kingsglaive in the first place._

Cor never truly wanted Ronnie to join the Glaive. If anything, he was vehemently against it. It was true that they made their deals and promises over the course of the years, all of which they had diligently kept both ends of their respective bargains: in exchange for abandoning all thoughts of returning to Tenebrae, Cor had taught Ronnie everything she knew about combat; and in exchange for finishing high school, Cor had given Ronnie his blessing to join the force, albeit half-heartedly. But that did not stop Cor from trying to persuade Ronnie out of her decision, and persuading Ronnie had often birthed many arguments that had been the source of his many head-splitting migraines. She had too much of Candela in her; they may not be bound by flesh and blood, but Ronnie undoubtedly inherited Candela’s head for stubbornness and her temper for vengeance.

And if Candela was here now, she would have probably unleashed her fury upon Cor in a heartbeat.

Cor had promised Candela to keep Ronnie safe, not to send her way to war and have herself killed.

_Well, she’s not here anymore, isn’t she?_

His thoughts now sounded more like Ronnie, or at least, the twelve-year-old version of her who had argued with him on one particular training night, her voice cold and empty and breaking. And in spite of her brokenness, she always strongly asserted her stand to fight in her own terms, always wore a brave face, always sallied forth with a smile. The young, gentle, and naive girl from Tenebrae no longer existed. Cor watched how Ronnie’s loss and longing transformed into an unforgiving anger, and how this war—this bloody, gods-forsaken war—had made her wear her hatred like her second skin.

 _She isn’t here, but I am._ Cor wistfully thought, the words merely ghosts of what could have been said. Cor had no prior experience raising a daughter, and Ronnie had no prior experience of having a father, that Cor felt a hollow helplessness on how to protect the only person whom he now considered as family. But even with little to no parenting experience, Cor was well aware that dictating Ronnie on how she should live her life was a selfish thing to do. _Let me protect you, we’ll find her, you shouldn’t put your life on the line in this damn war, you’re the daughter I never had, how many more times will I fail to protect the people I love—_

“You look rather tormented, Cor Leonis,” in his absent-mindedness, Cor had not realized sooner that he was already in front of the concierge when Johanna’s silky voice called his attention. “To what do I owe you this visit?” She folded her hands on top of her desk and gave him a curious smile. The Citadel was one massive edifice that one may consider it a labyrinth that Cor couldn’t remember the last time he saw Johanna. Or the last time he ever stepped foot in the library. Either way, he still remembered her amiable face, despite her usual sternness. He suddenly wondered if Johanna could still remember the notoriety of his younger days. He pushed the thought aside.

Cor, without wasting a breath to beat around the bush, only said with his voice heavy with urgency: “I need your help. When Wes was here years ago, when we were trying to look for answers on Candela Clark’s disappearance, I know you outright refused—”

Johanna’s blue eyes transitioned from sheer calculation to a sharp realization. Then she tersely said, “No.”

“It’s Ronnie this time, Johanna.” Cor looked at her grimly, and he saw how Johanna’s face was mellowed by a wave of worry and concern. “Look, you mentioned a long time ago of this magic that could possibly help us, and I know you refused to help us before—but please. I just... need to know if she’s at least safe.”

“You really would do anything for the Clark women, don’t you?” There’s a peculiar gentleness in Johanna’s voice that warred with her unsmiling face. She pleasantly shook her head, “I really do admire your commitment after these twelve long years.”

Cor’s voice was almost pleading. “Johanna.”

“Very well,” she finally smiled. Cor found Johanna difficult to read at times, and he couldn’t say if he had ever earned her trust. Johanna added to further clarify, “And I want you to understand that I’m doing this only for Briony because I love her to bits.”

“Understood,” Cor replied, quite relieved to finally acquire Johanna’s cooperation. “So what exactly do I need to do—”

“Nothing,” she closed her eyes, as if she was preparing to doze off. Cor was slightly confused, but then she instructed, “I just need you to stand there.”

“Why—”

The question perished at the tip of his tongue when Cor heard a sharp snap and he saw vividly playing in his mind, like a film in fast forward, Ronnie and the rest of her Glaive companions resting in an oddball of a house. Cor was pretty certain it was them because of the distinct all-black ensemble of a frock coat and knee-high boots. He saw Nyx Ulric along with the other three soldiers. And two unfamiliar faces. And a cat. And then it stopped.

His head was suddenly throbbing that his entire body crumpled, his hands squeezing his temple. “What _was_ that?” Cor hissed in pain. He dragged his eyes to look at Johanna’s face, “And how did you…”

Johanna was only looking at him with a smile, and answered impassively, “I only showed you a present image of Ronnie’s whereabouts. You wanted to know if she’s safe, now there’s your answer.”

Cor was still trying to recover. And with all the sudden burning questions that scorched his still-throbbing head, he only managed to remark, “This isn't just some magic, nor is it the power of kings…”

“Of course, it isn't,” Johanna simply said. “Oh, how I thought I could keep a low profile.”

As the pain steadily subsided, Cor found himself bewilderedly studying Johanna. For some reason, she exuded a power he could not name. The Johanna he had known all his life, he was seeing in a different light.

“A humble Messenger at your service,” Johanna finally said, as if in response to the begging question in Cor's confused face. She only pressed forth in confident assurance, “And I swear upon the Bladekeeper whom I serve, what you saw was real. And I can attest that Briony is in good company. For now, at least.”

 


	7. Nyx Ulric

In the three exhausting days that Nyx had introduced Crowe, Pelna, and Briony to Eastern Galahd’s lay of the land, scouting and surveying the area as they deemed fit, he had been oddly ill at ease.

Nyx tried to identify the source of the gnawing sensation. He was certain that it was not caused by their reported disappearance that went all over the local news; it seemed that many had been led to believe that they had vanished without a trace, whilst their other Kingsglaive comrades emerged victorious from their exploits in Western Galahd. Pelna proposed that they could use this misinformation to their advantage to completely go incognito, and Nyx figured that it could all be sorted out once they eliminate the Niflheim technology that disabled them from making any contact outside the island. It did, however, puzzle him to no end as to why the Empire would go so far as to close off an entire island from communicating with the outside regions. But he figured, too, that they would find the answers to that by the end of their assignment.

Nyx was also certain that his unease was not caused by Libertus joining Maxx on a dangerous hike to Mount Vahagn—Galahd’s renowned volcano with its perfect peak crowned with a tiara of crimson molten rock, its surreal beauty competing with the Rock of Ravatogh—for a valiant venture to find the ingredients to concoct explosives for their upcoming escapade.

And Nyx was even more certain that it wasn’t caused by his mother’s growing fondness for Briony, which he had already acknowledged as a different variant of discomfort—but still, it was discomforting nonetheless.

It was only when they surveyed the nearby town of Yensa, a humble settlement of whitewashed stone houses and brown thatched roofs that lay a couple of ways north from their solitary beach home, that Nyx began to realize what seemed to be the ill-rooted feeling. Truthfully, seeing Yensa again after all those years should be a source of his relief; Yensa had been one of the towns which suffered many casualties during Niflheim’s invasion years ago and had been once in ruins, but there it was, dutifully restored by his fellow Galahdians to an even finer condition.

But upon reaching the town’s outskirts, as Nyx searched for the old ragged building of cement and stone where he and Libertus first set up the bar that they used to own, what he found in its stead was a lane of Imperial command outposts, demolishing the only place he had considered as a safe haven of all his juvenile days.

It was then that the true nature of his vague sense of dread finally unraveled itself: in the dismal streets, in the hushed whispers, and in the uninviting faces of people he barely even recognized, it was useless to actively ignore that everything Nyx had known about Galahd had abysmally changed.

 _I’m so fucking foolish to hope things will still be the same,_ he thought bitterly. _War changes things and all these years I should’ve known better._ Everywhere they went, may it be a town or a village, had already been conquered by Niflheim’s influence. With Yensa being a prime exception, there had been numerous structures upon structures of collapsed establishments, inns, and houses either left to waste, or rebuilt by the Niffs to please and serve their purpose. And everywhere they went, people were either still hopelessly drunk on their loss and grief, or had sobered up to blindly surrender themselves to the Empire.

He had been too stubborn to admit it, but a small part of Nyx was an inexplicably lost stranger in his own homeland. The Galahd Nyx was seeing now was far different from the one he had grown to love.

The one he had grown to call his home.

But Galahd, despite the unwarranted foreign feeling, was still his home. It would always be _his_ home and his mother’s and Libertus’s and Luche’s. And Nyx, angry and raging and furious as he already was, would certainly go through lengths, sacrifice every muscle and nerve and blood of his body, just to rid and to empty this place of Niflheim’s rule.

_These bastards will regret ever taking what was ours._

 

 

The following day, Nyx and Briony had split with the others back in the Ulric residence before the crack of dawn. Maxx had generously loaned all of them the traditional olive green and brown garb of the Hunters just so they could adequately blend in. Libertus and Crowe took their minivan, seeing that their assignment was much farther away; Pelna rode with Maxx on his fatboy motorcycle. With the absence of a vehicle and a nearby chocobo rental, Nyx decided to take the winding route to their destination, which meant that they had to trek through the woods—Glenwood, as it was plainly called—going to Galahd River.

Even in the bluish darkness shrouded in a thin veil of fog, the rich fragrance of trees and the soft chorus of insects and birds were too redolent of his young, halcyon days. Nyx was somehow comforted that the forest trail was still the same as he had remembered it. He had run through this path with Selena and Libertus on countless occasions and seasons, the three of them racing and raring to outrun the other towards the beach front of their house, all at the expense of sea salt popsicles and stupid bragging rights.

“We never really had the chance to explore these parts,” Briony said as they trudged side by side along the semi-muddied trail illuminated by their flashlight beams and the still starlit sky. The sides of the path were fringed with tangles of trees and thickets, and in between the silhouettes of the canopy, there peeked the night sky powdered by thousands upon thousands of stars. She asked, “How far is it from here to Galahd River?”

“Around ten kilometers. Roughly an hour worth of walking, tops.” Nyx answered, stepping over a huge knot of tree roots that jutted out from the ground. “Not an outdoorsy person, huh, partner?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, _partner,_ but I actually am,” Briony sharply retorted. ”Unfortunately, the landscape back in mainland Lucis is not as scenic as what you have here in Galahd that I’d rather remain indoors.”

Nyx was strangely overcome with a swell of pride. “So you don’t consider Galdin Quay scenic? The view of Angelgard? The Rock of Ravatogh?”

“Um, those are only a few exceptions,” Briony replied. “Maybe I’m just biased with places more dominated by trees and flora.”

“Do tell. Was Tenebrae something like that?” Nyx assumed. He had never been to Tenebrae, but he had seen photos of it in newspapers and magazines, whenever the Oracle family graced the papers. But it only tended to boast the grand Fenestala Manor as the backdrop of the once autonomous nation, and none of the other natural wonders that inhabited around the ivory mansion.

“Very much, yes.” Nyx could hear the giddy smile in Briony’s voice. “Mountains and forests, much like this one. Though Tenebrae doesn’t have beaches. Just waterfalls and rivers and floating rocks. And sylleblossoms. Fields and fields of sylleblossoms."

“Sylleblossoms? Those overpriced blue flowers they sell at the malls?”

“Oh gods, those are the worst.” Briony scoffed. “They’re selling it for thrice the price. It’s awful.”

The muddy road steadily inclined uphill, its path now progressing to a bed of pebbles and fragments of rocks. “Mom actually loves sylleblossoms,” Nyx noted pleasantly. “She’d been wanting to plant one of those things in her little garden at our backyard. Says she can’t afford the seeds she’d been seeing in the market.”

“Yeah, she told me about it,” Briony casually affirmed. With Briony’s confident affirmation of facts regarding his own mother, Nyx was not at all surprised at this point. He knew for a fact that whenever they were back at his house, Briony and his mom spent a copious amount of time together, giggling and smiling at ease in each other’s company, as his mom unabashedly shared stories of her youth, her hobbies, her passions. But most of the time, for the love of the Six, Nyx was only left to speculate what the subjects of their conversations were as he was usually kept out of his _own_ kitchen, the two women sharing a wordless discussion over a cup of tea and their handful of secrets.

But as disconcerting as it was, Nyx was happy to see his mother happy. (Though in the very depths of his paranoid heart, Nyx secretly hoped she had not revealed any embarrassing childhood story about him to Briony. He knew how to defend himself against Briony’s whiplash quips, but if her ammunition of wisecracks now included his silly ten-year-old crimes, he would need to step up his game. Either way, the idea of it made Nyx cringe.)

As they ducked past a tangle of vines and low-lying branches, Briony gaily added, “It’s a good thing I had sylleblossom seeds with me so I gave it all to her.”  

Nyx stopped short. He turned to Briony, and his flashlight beam fell straight on her face that she had to squint and swat him out of the way.

“Wait, sorry—what?” Nyx rested his elbow against a nearby tree and considered Briony for a moment. He couldn’t bring himself to decide if he was baffled with Briony’s odd revelation that she was carrying flower seeds (of all things!) with her, or the very notion that she had gifted his mother something so precious without him even knowing. He settled on a less complicated matter, so he blurted out, “How and why in the world did you have sylleblossom seeds with you?”

“Um, yeah. Okay. There’s a good story behind that and I know it’s weird—”

“Yeah, it sure is. Humour me, please.”

“See, Nyx Ulric—the truth is...” Briony, with her playful penchant for theatrics, dramatically placed her hands on his chest. Her touch was featherlike, and it was a good thing that it was still dark out and Briony was way shorter than him that her flashlight never reached his face, else Briony would have seen Nyx blushing furiously. “I’m actually a flower fairy, bestowing flower seeds to those who are kind of heart—”

“Gee whiz, thanks—it was really nice talking to you.” He rolled his eyes, gently taking her hands off him. Whirling, Nyx continued to march down the path. Briony only rushed after him, failing to swallow her bubble of laughter.

“It was actually a gift that I’ve kept in my wallet,” she admitted. “It was… from Luna. I know, weird that I kept it in my wallet, so sue me. Anyway. I figured I can’t ever use that sometime in the near future, ‘cause growing sylleblossoms in my apartment or anywhere in Insomnia is nearly impossible, so I thought it best to give it to your mom instead—wait, you’re not _mad_ about it, are you?”

It was this time that Briony’s question had Nyx _very_ fazed.

 _You pester me, annoy me, and drive me crazy, yes—but I don’t think I can ever be truly mad at you,_ was what Nyx had honestly wanted to answer. Then again, he easily settled on a less complicated response. “No, of course not. I… uh, thank you. For, um… that. For making my mom happy.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “And besides, your mom… she’s been really nice to us. I, uh—only wanted to return to her the same kindness that she’d shown us, her taking us in and cooking for us and you know what, she’s really a good cook, too—”

Nyx laughed. “That’s my mom for you, alright. Being motherly’s what she does best. Even to people she just met.” A tentative silence followed, one that was born out of Nyx’s tiptoeing hesitation to raise a question he had been meaning to ask Briony. As careful as they traversed deeper into the forest, he cautiously began, “So, um… back at my place, you mentioned your mom… if you don’t mind me asking, have you ever heard back from her?”

Over his shoulder, Briony evenly offered, “My adoptive mom or my biological mom?”

She had said it as if it was a perfectly conventional family arrangement that Nyx was unsure on what to say. “Um, both?”

“Well, I never knew my biological parents, and they never bothered to reach out. The feeling is mutual, of course, so there’s that. As for my adoptive mother…”

When Nyx ceased to hear Briony’s footsteps coming from behind him, he turned around to see her standing in deep thought just a few feet away. The first wan light began to suffuse, painting everything around them in soft indigo hues. Nyx inched closer, and in this gentle morning light, her eyes— _her excruciatingly beautiful mismatched eyes,_ he always had helplessly thought—slowly met his. He saw Briony hesitate, but she went on. “Ever since that Imperial general took her that day they fucked us all up in Tenebrae, I never heard from her,” she explained, her voice cold and detached. “Cor even closely followed her trail. Can you believe it. Went as far as Gralea to find her. But instead of getting any helpful info, he only returned with more questions. There had been a lot of different rumours that ran around the mill, a lot of false leads. Some claimed she started to serve the emperor. Most of the mercenaries loyal to her reported seeing her in some Magitek facility. Some said she was even dead. No surprise to that, I suppose.”

Nyx saw through Briony’s attempt to clothe her words with her impervious mirth and mulish indifference. But as the word _dead_ dropped heavy from her mouth, Nyx saw in her face a swift passing of pain, as if boulders of an unknown truth had ultimately crashed down on her. She muttered under her breath, almost solely to herself, “I mean, twelve years is obviously a long time and I should probably just let it go and believe that she’s dead, but I just—I don’t know, I still want to find my answers and—” her words came out in a hurry, and in a hurry she sealed the cracks in her voice when she looked up at Nyx—“Shit, this is silly. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to go on and on—”

“Briony.” Nyx took her by the shoulders and held her gaze, firm and certain. “It’s not _silly_. And there’s no need for you to apologize—the Empire screwed us all up, and it’s not your fault. None of it was _our_ fault. So listen—we’re going to do what we do best: we fight. We keep on fighting. And you’ll find your answers, and we’re going to make the Empire pay for everything they took from us, you hear me?”

Briony only blinked at him and nodded.

“Good.” Nyx sighed and relaxed, slowly realizing that he got carried away after that blazing pep talk, and that he was standing so close to Briony that he found himself lost in her burning stare. He awkwardly let her go, reaching for the back of his neck to stop himself from flushing like a fool. “I should… well, I should be the one apologizing. For bringing it up. And for the unsolicited advice.”

“Now you’re being silly.” She laughed and rolled her eyes, and her usual beaming smile—the very same that annoyed the shit out of him—tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t mind, I swear. And I, uh—thanks. I kinda needed to hear that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Nyx spared her a pat on the shoulder and jerked his head to the direction of their destination, a gentle cue to keep moving forward.

A cool breeze whistled past, and the rustling leaves sang along with the orchestra of birdsong under the trees. Nyx and Briony had never shared their silence in comfort—it was always just silence or otherwise. But as Nyx led the way, they continued their walk in an intriguingly solemn wordlessness, basked in the reverent music of the forest. Occasionally, Briony would keenly point out peculiar-looking plants only native to the wilderness of Galahd, and Nyx would burst into a small lecture about its medicinal significance or its abundant curative properties, priding himself with the knowledge his mother had passed onto him.

Chords of light had already speared down through the roof of green and gold foliage, signaling the birth of a new day. By the time their path had winded and opened up to a glade of plum and purple wildflowers, the surrounding trees grew larger and soared higher, their trunks knitted together like thick fortresses, colossal and daunting. From afar, gurgling whispers of water was faint yet audible.

“We’re almost there,” Nyx announced. He glanced behind him, only to find Briony standing in the middle of the flower field, wide-eyed with wonder.

“This is… _so_ beautiful.” She bit her lower lip and broke into a wide grin that he had never once seen in her face whenever he’s around. Nyx was clearly caught off guard; Briony’s face beamed with sincere and sunny bright fascination, his vision might have blurred.

“Uh, yeah—it sure is, huh.” Nyx gulped and smiled timidly in return, struggling to tear his eyes away from Briony. _Six, why does this view make me want to kiss her right now?_

His heart clenched as he pushed the strange thought aside. Briony made her way over to him and said, “You know what, I never thought I’d say this but—” she stood in front of him, and her lips quirked into a cheeky smirk— “this probably marks the longest time we’ve spent together without ever arguing. It actually feels nice.”

Nyx shook his head, his mouth pulling into an impish grin. “It _is_ nice. And  _you_ do count the days that I’m not pissing you off.” He found it oddly satisfying to use Briony’s own quip against her.

 _“_ Well, it’s not everyday that I find myself _not_ wanting to physically hurt you,” Briony cheerily declared. “Trust me—counting moments like this can be a pretty tedious task.”

Before Nyx could even formulate a response, Briony sauntered past him and marched ahead towards the path.

“Hey,” Nyx called out as he jogged after her through the archway of trees. “Brie Cheese.”

Nyx heard her grunt in exasperation, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Briony only ignored him as she continued to walk forth the rocky trail.

“Partner.”

Ignored.

“Brie Cheese.”

Again, ignored.

“Brie. Cheese.”

Briony groaned louder this time. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

In long strides, Nyx matched his steps with hers. The sound of the rippling river grew even more distinct. “And to think we were just getting along earlier.”

“Were we?” Briony feigned ignorance like a pro. “I guess it stopped when you started calling me again by that awful nickname.”

“Why? You like brie cheese, you said that much when you got drunk at Luche’s party. That’s why one of the Glaives thought it was romantic to win your affection by giving you a bouquet of—“

Briony shot Nyx a glare so sharp he could have been mentally sliced into shreds. She blushed in bright pink and sneered, “That was _one_ time. And I turned him down.”

Nyx snickered. “Right. I was just teasing.” 

“You always do. You’re an idiot. I hate you.”

“Well, I hate you, too. At least we have something in common—“

Briony abruptly stopped in her tracks. “Do you hear that?”

Nyx narrowed his eyes on Briony, dubious. He was already anticipating one of her sharp quips that he swiftly offered in jest, “Is it the sound of our friendship being forged—“

She only raised her hand in caution. “Wait, no. Listen. There was something...”

They stood still in the middle of the woods, surrounded by the thorny underbrush, the tangle of thistles, and the clear murmur of birds and the rushing water up ahead.

There was nothing out of sort.

Nyx exhaled and began to conclude, “Look, maybe it’s just the river nearby, so—”

All at once, Nyx was interrupted by a sinister roar, followed by the grumbling of the earth beneath them. Nyx and Briony exchanged an alarming glance. Hastily, they sprinted down the trail and up the end of the path.

On normal days, the vast yet craggy meadow that separated Glenwood and Galahd River was a favoured terrain for herds of pygmy goats and flocks of black sheep, grazing along its rocky ridges and grassy knolls. On normal days, the jagged, bone-white mountain range of Galahd could even be seen at a distance, harpooning into the clear blue sky, with Mount Vahagn just peeking behind it. And with the white marbled rocks, the cyan rapids of the river, and the long wooden bridge that connected one side to the other, this panoramic view of Galahd’s finest gem was Nyx’s utmost favourite.

But this wasn’t exactly a normal day. There had not been any normal days in Galahd since the Empire arrived. The Magitek facility that loomed on the mountainside far ways just across the bridge was enough testament on how the Empire had besmirched their lands with a pathetic military fortress, one that had everything to do with their scientific advancements and nothing to do with Galahdians’ best interests.

And the massive winged behemoth that prowled around the grasslands just a half a league away from Nyx and Briony was in no way any different.

Briony yanked Nyx down, pulling him into the nearest shrubbery.

“Look—” Briony pointed at the grass mound on the other side of the bridge, and a huge metallic device that closely resembled an armored car sat on its crest. “That must be the jammer Maxx mentioned.”

Nyx nodded. “Okay. You take that thing out while I distract this monster.”

Briony gaped at him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Nyx only gave her a serious look.

“Have you no sense of self-preservation?” Briony strongly argued. “That’s a different sort of behemoth, Nyx! Need I remind you that we don’t have our magic?”

“You’re right,” Nyx smiled, cocky and confident as always. “But someone’s gotta do it.”

“You’re a fucking idiot—“

Nyx robbed Briony the power of ending her logical argument when he darted out of the bushes and into the field. Not far behind, he heard her yelling a thread of profanities he knew she only saved just for him.

Maintaining a good distance, he dashed across a good length of the meadow, sneaking through the tall grass, and crouching behind a slab of ruined walls to hide himself. At this range, Nyx could see the stark difference between this colossal beast to an average behemoth; and aside from its great wings, its curved horns were long enough to skewer its average counterpart. _What in the world are they feeding these daemons to grow into this size?_

Not long after, Briony appeared and hunched over beside him.

“I have an idea to slow it down,” she proposed, out of breath. “You can keep that thing all to yourself after that, and then I’ll run for the jammer.”

Nyx considered her for a second. “And how do you exactly plan on doing that— _son of a bitch!”_

As quickly as she came, Briony leapt over the wall and hightailed down the direction of the beast, her katana drawn. Nyx helplessly chased after her, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his kukris.

_And she had the fucking gall to tell me that I had no sense of self-preservation._

With their approach less than subtle this time around, the beast spun around to face them, the ground trembling at its feet. Nyx tried not to focus too much on the sharp points of the behemoth’s horns, growing larger as it viciously charged its way in their direction. Far ways in front of him, Briony was quick on her feet and sidestepped, delivering a swift slice on its left side. Sometimes, Nyx forgot that it was _Cor the Immortal_ who taught Briony everything she knew about the art of swordplay, that he was always left in awe at the quick precision of her movement. The gash ran from the monster’s forearm down to its hindfoot, and spatters of blood sprayed from its side that it let out a roar, one that emitted a shroud of freezing mist throughout the area.

_Since when do behemoths breathe ice?_

“Briony, just go on ahead!” Nyx commanded. “I’ll keep this fucker at bay!”

“Gotcha—it should take effect in a minute!” Nyx didn’t know what exactly she meant, and before he could even ask for a clarification, Briony already raced towards the hill on the other side. Left alone with the beast, Nyx dashed forward to draw its attention, and in half a heartbeat, the behemoth reached for him with an instant swipe of its claws.

Nyx lurched sideways in the muddy grass, and he felt a sharp pain under his rib.

 _Well, this is really harder without King Regis’s magic._ He pulled himself up and spat out a mouthful of blood and dirt. He watched the behemoth come after him. Fueled by a lungful of adrenaline and a lot of anger, he rushed his way in a frighteningly lightning speed and charged, sliding himself underneath the monster, driving his blades to carve a straight wound from its torso to its belly.

The behemoth staggered and fell on its side. But Nyx’s damage seemed to do little to the behemoth that it somehow still managed to recover. It flapped its wings, ready to pounce. And just as it was about to rise, it crashed right back on the ground.

It was only this time that Nyx finally noticed the wound that Briony left their formidable foe. The huge cut on its side had festered, oozing with a grisly green fluid. The behemoth limped as it careened towards Nyx. It roared again, launching another veil of frost.

As if on cue, his earpiece crackled to life. _“Nyx, do you copy?”_

It was Briony. Nyx pressed a finger on his right ear as he dashed to a safer and warmer side. “So you poisoned this thing?”

 _“Glad to know it worked,”_ she answered, positively pleased. The behemoth found Nyx and bolted straight for him. It violently swung its spiked tail and lashed out its arms, but Nyx learned from his mishap earlier that he was able to roll and dodge effectively. He quickly surveyed around the field, trying to get a sense of Briony’s current location.

“I’d really appreciate it if you’d hurry up so I can get to some serious cracking around here,” Nyx demanded.

_“Well, I’m almost done. Don’t die on me yet, hero.”_

As the behemoth spotted Nyx again, it barrelled into him as if it had not been wounded. It raised its paw, and Nyx was quick to parry the heavy blow. But with the swift swipe of its horned tail, Nyx was catapulted to the ground like a ragdoll. He landed with an awful force that jarred him right to the bone. Sprawled on his back, pain shot through him and everything in his body ached. He could taste the copper tang of his own blood. His face throbbed and packed with mud, and above, all he could see was the sky tainted with mist.

“Nyx!”

 _If Briony’s voice was the last thing I’ll hear before I die, I wouldn’t mind._ He groaned, steeling himself to recover, forcing his brain to find his legs and the strength he had lost somewhere in this fight. He might have broken a lot of things in his body this time around.

Nyx propped himself up on his elbows. From afar, he saw Briony running towards him. “Gods dammit—Nyx!”

And before him, the behemoth was well on its way to trample him under its feet.

 _If Briony’s face was the last thing I’ll see before I die, I wouldn’t mind._ He might have been hallucinating out of the sharp pain that he was in, but somewhere on his side, a massive streak of fire set the winged behemoth in front of him in a fury of blazing flames. Sheets of fire engulfed the beast as it growled and roared its blood-chilling breath of ice. But it only drowned in the raging fire, until it was incinerated into ashes.

_It's over?_

In his relief, he granted himself the permission to slump back on the ground. He heard approaching footsteps which could only be from Briony, and a sound so out of place he could not quite put a finger on yet. He was dizzy, his world was spinning, and everything was a fucking pain.

“I said don’t die on me, you idiot!” Briony knelt on his side, her voice shaking with worry. “You’re a fucking mess!”

He heard a crack-hiss of a curative bottle, and Nyx watched as Briony cast a healing spell over his injuries that spread over his chest and his legs.

“You can use your magic now…” Nyx said weakly.

“Yup.” She sniffled. Rattled and dazed, Nyx looked at her and reached for her face. He felt the softness of her cheek and the warmth of her tears at his fingertips.

“You’re… crying?”

“Shut up,” she croaked, swatting off his hand. “I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.” He exhaled a small laugh. He was starting to feel infinitely better than what he had been when Briony found him sprawled like a corpse on the ground. “But thank you. That was a pretty badass fire spell.”

“Oh, that? That wasn’t me.” Briony withdrew as Nyx hauled himself to sit up. This time, he heard that familiar sound again, and this time, he was able to distinguish it.

_A purr?_

Nyx followed where it came from, and he saw Whiskey frolicking her way to meet them. She hopped onto Nyx’s lap, and nuzzled her face against his chest. She even climbed and reached to lick his face. Even in his bewilderment as to why his cat was here of all places, Nyx laughed and wrapped Whiskey in a playful hug.

“So, there’s your answer,” Briony offered, sounding a bit unsure. She continued, “Um, I thought I was imagining things. I saw her lurking and—I know we’ve been seeing a lot of weird things, but Nyx. Were you ever aware that you own a _fire-breathing_ cat?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Nyx asked, incredulous. Whiskey purred as he scratched her behind the ear. “Are you trying to say…”

Briony eyed the furry black-and-white feline Nyx had lovingly snuggled in his arms. “Yes. The fire was Whiskey’s doing.”

And as if to affirm her statement, Whiskey hopped away from Nyx to Briony, purring ever so earnestly.

 

* * *

 

The way things were running at this rate, there were two known things that Nyx was sure of:

One, their ability to wield the power of kings had been duly restored.

And two, he apparently owned a magical cat.

The sun had already dipped in the horizon and had set the sky in a canvas of pinks and lilacs. As Nyx and Briony sat and waited for the others to arrive at their rendezvous point—a haven at the foot of the mountains, a couple of miles away from their targeted Magitek facility—his cat Whiskey just casually set the bonfire aflame for them. Whiskey lounged in front of the fire, licking its paw, carefree and without a care in the world.

_A fire-breathing cat. This is insane._

Nyx had adopted Whiskey as a birthday gift for Selena. He always spotted the cat wandering aimlessly around Galahd Canyon, sometimes sitting at one of the benches and playing with some of the tourists. But whenever he and Libertus were around, Whiskey found a particular liking towards him; she followed him vigilantly everywhere they went, but she never quite followed Nyx back at his place. It was then that he knew that he should take home the lonesome feline with him, especially when Nyx was aware that Selena had adamantly expressed how she wanted a pet cat.

But then, the Empire came and took the life of her sister before she could even celebrate her birthday. It was only a cruel jape on his part that he named a cat after an alcoholic drink that did little to quell his ghostly grief for his sister.

So when he joined the Glaive, he had left Whiskey under his mother’s care, knowing that his mother needed the company in their solitary home more than he did in his place in Insomnia.

_Is it weird to feel betrayed by your own cat? Again, this is insane—_

“So you really didn’t know?” Briony asked, tugging him away from his thoughts. She pulled her knees closer to her chest.

“No,” Nyx answered. “I mean, okay, maybe I found it strange that sometimes she came home with _cooked_ fish, but… she did cat things. Like every other cat.” Which seemed such a daft explanation of things, but it was true. It never crossed his mind to investigate Whiskey’s activities because she was, well, a fucking cat. A cat that happened to slaughter and burn a winged behemoth a million times her size.

“You think maybe she’s, like…” Briony trailed off, and with the tone of her voice, she was about to present a theory.

“Like what? A daemon?”

“Gods, no!” Briony scowled. “I mean, like a Messenger? I know two dogs who are just like Whiskey. Though they didn't breathe fire, just did mystical stuff. Like magically appearing out of nowhere.”

Just before Nyx could even acknowledge the thought, Pelna arrived.

“Great to see you’re alive, Pel,” Nyx greeted. “Where’s Maxx?”

“Climbing as we speak.” Pelna wore an amused look on his face despite the long, exhausting day. One of Pelna's skills was to brim with so much energy even in the most trying times. “Look at you both. Alive and _close_ together. Am I interrupting something? And what in the Astrals’ name is Whiskey doing here?”

Briony glanced nervously at Nyx and answered, “Well, that’s...”

Maxx’s chirpy voice interrupted the trio. “Howdy, fellas. So I heard we were sleeping under the stars before we set off, so we brought these.” He dropped the rolls of sleeping bags on the ground, and as he did, Whiskey walked over to Maxx and _meowed_ by way of greeting.

“Whoa, look what we have here—” Maxx picked her up and lifted her close to his face. Nyx found it off-putting how Maxx was unstartled with Whiskey’s odd company with their group. But then, Maxx’s face scrunched in confusion when Whiskey purred at him over and over, as if recounting to Maxx the events that had transpired earlier that day. A question slipped right out of his mouth, surprised. “You did what?”

It was strange for Nyx to watch how Maxx seamlessly transitioned to a foreign language he had not heard before. It was even stranger that by simply watching and listening to Maxx and his unusual exchange of dialogue with a _cat,_ Nyx felt his eyelids droop heavily with an uninvited drowsiness. He was still able to see Briony gradually easing herself to the ground, and Pelna already lying on his back, like his earlier energy had suddenly dried out. There was nothing else Nyx could do before everything around him blurred and faded into black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This chapter is like my life, it is a fucking rollercoaster ride. HAHA.


	8. Briony Clark

Briony was back in Tenebrae.

Or at least, she dreamt that she was.

She could immediately tell when she found herself sitting on a branch of a lonely, leafless oak tree. Her legs dangled a couple of feet from the ground, and on her side, she saw her familiar eight-year-old handwriting etched on the tree trunk, with names of the Hexatheon scrawled in an orderly list. She traced each line and letter with a finger. _Titan, the Archaean. Ramuh, the Fulgurian. Shiva, the Glacian. Leviathan, the Hydraean. Bahamut, the Draconian. Ifrit, the Infernian._ It was unmistakably her childhood reading nook and hiding spot, the very same place where her mother had first taught her how to read. She even found her makeshift shelf where her books in their filigreed spines and intricate covers had been neatly arranged the same way she had left it, before the Imperial army set everything on fire.

For a dream, this was all painfully vivid.

Briony climbed down and started examining her known surroundings. There was only her and the oak tree that stood proudly alone in a sea of sylleblossoms. The sky was an dreary gray, empty of the lush mountains that typically hovered the horizon of Zoldara Henge. Briony walked as far as she could, until the tree was a mere speck of silhouette behind her. She kept walking aimlessly, wandering and wondering, wading through an infinite meadow of blues and sapphires.

Then she heard a loud bark. And another.

Briony turned around to search for the sound, and realized that she needed to search no further.

A couple of feet away sat a white, blue-eyed dog with a green bandage around its right paw.

“Pryna?”

In response, the dog began to skitter its way back to the bleak and forlorn oak tree. Briony only followed. From a good distance, she noticed that the oak tree was no longer bleak nor forlorn. Leaves had flourished, green and vibrant, piercing life into the stony sky. And as Briony’s unlikely canine company led her closer, a striking shade of molten amber under the tree caught her eye. There was a figure dressed in white leaning against the trunk; their flaming red hair creating a stark contrast in the cold blue swaths of sylleblossoms...

Briony didn’t require a fraction of a second to recognize the person that her heart and her legs already staggered into a desperate run.

“Mom!” she cried, over and over. The woman did not turn, but Briony was certain—absolutely, helplessly certain—that it was her mother. She raced the remaining lengths of the field, sweeping past sheets of flowers upon flowers, with Pryna close in pursuit.

She reached the foot of the tree, harrowed and heaving. Slowly, cautiously, Briony circled to take a look at the woman’s face.

Down to every flaw and feature, the face was undoubtedly her mother’s. It was the same beautiful face that Briony had always adored and often envied, a blessed trinity of angular cheekbones molded by grace, luscious lips crafted by wit, and green eyes tempered by both mettle and menace.

But the Candela Clark that Briony saw before her was neither made of grace, wit, nor the mettle and menace that her mother had unfailingly possessed. The Candela Clark that Briony was looking at was devoid of life, an empty semblance and a hollow husk of what used to be her kind and fierce and loving mother.

“Mom, talk to me.” Briony’s voice cracked, stepping closer with Pryna by her side. “Please.”

Still, her mother offered Briony not even a single look nor answer, her eyes remaining blank and vacant.

“I miss you. Cor misses you,” Briony sobbed and begged, taking and gripping her mother’s hands. “Please, please, _please_ say something. Anything.”

Still, her mother granted Briony not even a little attention nor regard, her face muted by an astounding silence.

“Mom, _please—”_ Briony wrapped her into a firm and desperate embrace. “Just tell me if you’re okay. Please tell me where you are and let me find you—”

“Forgive me, my sweet darling Briony...”

It was a monotonous whisper, but Briony was stupefied beyond relief to finally hear her mother’s voice.

She pulled away and seized Candela by the shoulders. “Mom, I—”

Candela opened her mouth to speak, sparing Briony a blank look. “I can’t… I’m sorry… Find Hestia… Let go of Maxx.”

“I don’t understand, who’s Hestia? And how did you—”

Candela suddenly screamed and harshly dug her fingers on Briony’s arms. Briony flinched in fear as Candela’s voice warped to a myriad of other voices, until she sounded strangely a lot like Nyx. And Crowe. And Pelna. Candela shook Briony with so much force and cried, “Quit it! Let go of Maxx!”

Briony made a frantic effort to calm her mother down as she shrieked, while Pryna growled and barked at Candela over and over and over, until all of their voices melded and blared into a buzzing static.

 

* * *

 

“Let go of Maxx, Nyx!”

Briony was stirred awake by the sound of Pelna’s shouting and Whiskey’s paw kneading her cheek.

“Look at her—she’s fine!” Briony slowly got herself to sit, groaning and still half-asleep, but she was certain that the one who shouted was Maxx. “Your girlfriend finally woke up! Now, could you please get off me before she gets the wrong idea?”

The sky was already dark and littered with stars, and in the gentle amber light that crackled and burned from the campfire, Briony could see an angry Nyx on top of Maxx, throttling and pinning the hunter to the ground, with an upset Pelna trying to stop the both of them from killing each other.

Nyx even tightened his hands around Maxx’s neck. “I will fucking kill you—”

Briony finally snapped into focus and hurried to the side of the brawl. Together with Pelna, they both tried to yank Nyx off of Maxx. She screeched, “What the fuck is going on here?!”

“Our _friend_ here did some weird ass trick and made us all unconscious!“ Nyx stumbled backward with Pelna, while Briony kneeled by Maxx’s side. Briony found it curious that for someone burly and barrel-chested as Maxx, he could have easily snapped Nyx like a twig, and yet he had the forbearance to control himself from doing so.

“Ain’t that a pretty bold accusation, boy!” Maxx sat up, rubbing his neck. He readjusted the tie of his disheveled bun. ”If Whiskey could breathe fire, she could’ve done that thing!”

Pelna looked absolutely muddled. “Did I just hear that right or am I missing something here—“

“So you’re accusing Whiskey?” Nyx shot back at Maxx, completely disregarding Pelna’s confusion. “Just because she saved us with her fire spell doesn’t mean…” Nyx left his statement hanging and glanced at Briony, and then back at Maxx.

Maxx sat with his elbow propped on one knee. He egged Nyx to continue. “Doesn’t mean what?”

“How did you know about that?” Nyx asked Maxx, and the tone of his voice weighed heavy with suspicion that Briony immediately knew where Nyx was steering this conversation. As far as she could remember, she was knocked out by an unexplained weariness before she or even Nyx could tell anyone what happened to them down by the river.

Feeling completely out of the loop, Pelna complained. “Anyone kind enough to fill me in here, please?”

“In a nutshell, we fought a winged behemoth and Whiskey unleashed all hell and burned the monster into ashes,” Briony explained, her attention still fixed on Maxx. If Maxx was even slightly vexed at Nyx’s demanding question, he did an exemplary job to hide any hint of emotion in his face. Even his gray eyes gave nothing away.

“No shit,” Pelna cursed under his breath. “Things are getting weirder and weirder around here, huh.”

“So now, what I want to know is how this guy here even know about that?” Nyx repeated, pointing at Maxx who still remained casually unbothered. “Before I blacked out, I saw you talking to Whiskey like some weird cat whisperer, speaking in tongues. Care to explain that?”

Briony studied Maxx. If she considered the short period of time that they had spent in Galahd, Briony only had two significant moments of interaction with the veteran hunter so far: their first meeting at the Ulric residence and this shoddy little commotion. The things she knew about Maxx were all secondhand information from Nyx’s mother, who shared fervently how Maxx was a man of virtue as opposed to his tough exterior and belligerent appearance. She insisted that Maxx was a gentle and honest soul, and it was him who helped the Ulrics evacuate to a safer territory when Niflheim attacked. Briony also learned that it was Maxx who led the local hunters in the massive effort to rebuild Yensa amidst Niflheim’s rule.

And yet, by all personal accounts, Maxx still remained an enigma to Briony. 

This encounter only piqued and deepened her interest.

A smile began to spread across Maxx’s devilishly handsome face. The light of the campfire made his tied-up hair appear like liquefied gold. Somewhere on Briony’s side, Whiskey came slinking through the shadows and jumped to sit on Maxx’s lap. The cat's green eyes glowed in the firelight.

Maxx leaned back and sat cross-legged, playfully cradling Whiskey in his arms. Finally, he gave Nyx a coolly thoughtful look. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

Nyx glowered and gritted his teeth. “You asshole, you think this is funny—”

Before Nyx could even charge right back at Maxx for a second round, Pelna held him back and Briony rushed to stand on guard between the two men. “Don’t do this,” Briony pleaded with Nyx. She whirled to Maxx, her arms firmly crossed over her chest. It was odd, seeing that Maxx didn’t exactly pose any form of threat with the way he just sat across from them, whistling and lounging in front of the campfire. He simply watched the three Glaives as he petted and pampered Whiskey. But with what just happened and with a fire-breathing Whiskey on Maxx’s side, Briony had every reason to be wary and watchful. Maxx might as well launch Whiskey as his personal flamethrower if things got ugly.

And it was a tremendous relief that Crowe and Libertus arrived just in time to suspend the impending rematch between Maxx and Nyx.

The relief barely lasted for a second.

Because it only took one look on their current arrangement—Pelna seemingly holding Nyx hostage, Maxx sitting with Whiskey on his lap just across from them, and Briony in a defensive stance somewhere in between—for Crowe and Libertus to swap concerned glances.

“Um, what’s going on here?” Crowe asked.

“You both came just in the nick of time!” Maxx waved and motioned for both Crowe and Libertus to come closer. “Although, you missed the part where Nyx tackled me like a rabid animal and tried to snuff the life out of me—”

“And I’d gladly do it again if you don’t start explaining shit to us,” Nyx said, all acid. Pelna was obviously using every ounce of his strength to keep Nyx from doing something dumb, but Nyx only elbowed him out of the way. Meanwhile, Briony took it upon herself to quickly fill in Crowe and Libertus with an abridged version of the events.

“Are you serious?” Skeptical, Libertus looked at Maxx, and then at Whiskey. And as if to save Briony from even elaborating herself, Whiskey coughed out a fireball in demonstration.

Maxx yelped. “Hey, at least warn me the next time you do that!”

Whiskey only purred and licked its paw. On the other hand, Crowe and Libertus shared a look that was a mixture of both fear and amazement.

“Okay, that was frightening _and_ cute.” Crowe put her hands on her hips. “So she grilled a behemoth? Nyx, can I keep her—”

“No.” Nyx curtly answered Crowe without a moment’s hesitation. Briony caught Pelna shooting Crowe a sharp look and shook his head, a clear message that meant _Our hero is in a very bad mood._ Briony was no stranger to these wordless discussions among her Glaive comrades, and Crowe only immediately took the hint.

Briony mindfully watched Nyx as he marched past her and towards Maxx. “So? We’re all here and we’re all ears. You owe us an explanation.”

Maxx smiled, mirthless. He looked up at Nyx with a flash of contempt. “I owe you?” He scooped Whiskey closer. “Did you hear that? Your human says that I owe _him._ I told you, these humans will always be self-entitled. Such a shame.”

Whiskey hissed.

“Fine. Anyway, gather around the campfire, kids!” Maxx made a sweeping gesture on the ground in front of him. “Find yourself a seat. Whiskey here says if I don’t stop being a jackass, she’ll burn me. And I had to say that she called me a jackass because she will indeed burn me if I didn’t.”

The Glaives shared another one of their leery glances. It took a passing moment before Nyx jerked his head towards Maxx, and they gathered themselves and huddled in a crescent facing the hunter.

Whiskey shifted on Maxx’s lap as he began, "So, a couple of things to clarify. First: it really wasn’t me who knocked you out cold. It was this pretty baby right here.” He pointed at Whiskey, who nudged and nuzzled her face against Maxx’s forearm. “Second: she did it because Nyx was injured and refused to acknowledge that he fractured his rib during their encounter with the behemoth. She says that Briony’s healing magic and an elixir bottle can only do so little, so she had to cast her sleeping-slash-healing spell for Nyx to completely recuperate before we set out the Imperial facility. Unfortunately, the spell works with anyone who’s in close proximity. I’m, of course, immune to it because obviously, I’m _not_ like you guys.”

As they fell into a momentary silence, a gentle wind whirred. Maxx cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders. His expression turned solemn. “Whiskey and I, we’re what you mortals call Messengers. Personally I can’t exactly consider myself as one since my powers had been stripped away from me by Old Pop Ramuh a century ago, so I’m... sort of a defect—” Whiskey cut him off with a whiny purr— “okay, Whiskey here insists that I’m not, and that I just need to atone for some major shit I did so I could return to my normal self. So, I know this sounds like I’m batshit crazy and I have nothing to prove my claims except that Whiskey here is the only one with magic—but believe me when I say that we don’t mean any harm.”

In his effort to redeem the trust of the Glaives, Maxx went so far as to openly offer his and Whiskey’s story in good faith. As it happened, Maxx was the Fulgurian’s steward, while Whiskey was sculpted and brought to existence out of the Infernian’s flame. Once, in the early days of Lucis, the rest of the Messengers lived inconspicuously in harmony with mortals, until the Great War of Old ravaged the lands and had thrown the rest of their kin in disarray. Most had selflessly stayed to aid mortals in rebuilding their homes and restructuring their cities, while some had abandoned all hope and desire to help mankind. A few, however, independently decided to do things on their own accord, only seeking to provide their guidance to those who truly need it.

Whiskey was part of the selfless ones. Maxx was part of the independent few.

In the years that followed, Maxx led a nomadic life, a vagabond dedicated to advocate compassion in his own eccentric way. But as he ventured far and wide Eos and upon reaching Galahd, he ended up committing a crime he refused to name—which resulted in his punishment to exist without his magic. He claimed that Ramuh never left a clear instruction as to how he would regain his powers back, so as an act of desperation and his choice for atonement, he joined and committed himself to the Hunters to live a life solely in service to a community of humans he equally loathed and loved. It was purely by chance and a mighty stroke of luck that he found Whiskey when he came to visit the Ulric residence for a hunting errand.

By the time Maxx had finished recounting his tale, Briony had a bucketful of curious questions that she wanted to raise. Libertus, who sat on her left, seemed just as restless as she was. On her right, Crowe was contemplative and oddly quiet. Nyx was ready to pounce with a question of his own when Pelna beat them all to it.

“Why keep it from us?” he blurted out. “You could have just told us from the get-go.”

“Well, I could have told everything earlier but _someone_ got their hands occupied choking me to death,” Maxx reminded Pelna. “Which I still think is such a pretty cute attempt when I can’t exactly die.”

Nyx rolled his eyes. _“Well,_ I’m sorry for reacting in a way anyone would have probably responded in the face of any threat or danger.”

“Half-assed apology accepted.” Maxx grinned, flashing rows of his perfect teeth meant to grace magazine covers. “But if I were to be honest, I didn’t see it necessary for anyone to know. Blending in is what we do best. That’s why we inhabit in this—“ Maxx began to wave his hands to gesture his entire body— “this… earthly vessel, as we like to call it. But when Whiskey decided to run off and save her human using her magic—which, mind you, we both clearly agreed to be off-limits while I settle my predicament—she wanted to be honest with you guys and wanted me to help her communicate her sentiments. Of course, if I had to help her, that would mean I had to come clean, too. That was what you saw a while back, the entire cat whispering thing in our native tongue.”

A pause slowly thawed the tension. Nyx asked, “Does Mom know? Or any of the Hunters?” 

“I’m pretty sure most of the veterans back in Hunter HQ caught on when my appearance hasn’t changed for half a century." Maxx shrugged, flashing a smug smile. “But none of them said a word nor dared condemn me for appearing forever forty. After all, I killed goblins with my bare hands to save their asses. As for your momma, she certainly knows. She knew the moment I stepped into your house. Your mother’s a smart and intuitive woman, alright. She promised me she won’t tell, and that it was my business to tell you and Libertus what I am, should the time come.”

“This... certainly explains why you didn’t seem to age after all these years,” Libertus realized. "You look exactly the same when I was eighteen."

Maxx nodded. “Yes. And also, sex helps a lot. Trust me on this.”

Libertus only groaned, while the rest of them stifled a laughter.

“But wait a sec.” Briony leaned closer, propping her chin on her palm. She had a flood of questions raging inside her perpetually curious head, considering it was the first time she had met someone like Gentiana and Pryna and Umbra outside of Tenebrae. But with a certain statement that Maxx had mentioned only a moment ago, she had to settle with the new burning curiosity: “You said you can’t die… but in one of the Cosmogony entries I’ve read in the Citadel library, it said that the twenty-four Messengers fought this daemon called Naglfar and they all perished in that fight.” 

At the drop of the daemon’s name, Maxx shuddered in horror. Even Whiskey violently hissed that he had to soothe her for comfort. Briony felt more guilty for upsetting Whiskey than she did with Maxx. 

“See, even Whiskey remembers that bastard. That was one heck of a fight, I’m telling you—and yet here we are, still alive to tell the tale after more than a millennia,” Maxx finally answered. “To clarify, some indeed perished. But after some time, they get reincarnated back to their previous forms, or to some new body or whatever. Which only goes to show humans are the shittiest historians in the cosmos.”

Briony raised an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. For someone who had dwelled in the Cosmogony section of the Citadel library spoiling her unparalleled love for lore and history, the knowledge she had always prided on was sorely wounded. She caught Nyx casting her a worried look. She looked away, and asked Maxx: “Are you insinuating that some of these published texts in the Cosmogony are… not true?”

Maxx eagerly rubbed his hands, as if to demonstrate some form of trick. In his rumbling voice, he announced, “Now this is a discussion I’m here for! Before I get back to you on that question, let me just ask all of you a couple of my own questions. So. Pop quiz! Can someone tell me what the prophecy is? The complete version.”

There was a long pause. Briony was tentative about answering. Pelna and Nyx glanced at each other. Briony then turned to Libertus, who only threw her a curious look and a half shrug.

It was Crowe who finally responded. “It goes like, _‘When darkness veils the world, the King of Light shall come’_ or something like that.”

Maxx waited. When Crowe didn't say anything else, he asked, disappointed. "Uh, that's it?"

Crowe nodded. “Um, yeah. That’s what I know. That's what we've always been told even back at the orphanage.”

“That’s what I know, too.” Pelna affirmed. "It's the only line they ever taught at school, anyway. Is there more to that?"

“Right. Interesting. That’s… yes. That's just a part of it.” Maxx sighed. “So none of you had ever come across this continuation? It goes, ' _And when light has been restored, a forgotten flower shall blossom in the desert, ushering a sweet song to an empire's downfall.’_ Ring any bells?”

“First time I heard of it,” Briony calmly acknowledged, but she was shaken. Luna had been quite fond of that prophecy ever since they were children, saying that the entire fate of mankind rested upon the King of Light—or something of that sort. And not once, not  _once,_ did any of the Cosmogony chapters nor any books that she ever came across posited that particular line. It was as if by listening to Maxx, Briony had to unlearn and reevaluate everything she knew about the things she thought she understood thus far.

“Well, once upon a time, the Aldercapt dynasty—the family that helmed the Empire as we know it—paid a generous amount of gil to carve that text out of every single history book in existence. Including the ones in Lucis,” Maxx said to Briony. “I mean, there’s only one empire, and that line in the prophecy was obviously meant for them.”

 _That makes sense,_ Briony reflected. _But does anyone in the Lucian family know?_

"Anyway, moving along." Maxx lazily stretched his arms, and to Libertus, he asked, “Last question—regarding a most recent one, if I may. What do you know about Lucca’s disappearance?”

It was the abandoned town, Briony remembered, and one of the few places in Galahd that she never had the chance to visit, all because Nyx’s mother had persuaded her against it.

Politely, Libertus answered, “The townsfolk disappeared overnight because of a daemon, but no bodies were found, no sign of violence. Just vanished into thin air.”

“Again, partly true. It was the Empire who took everyone in that village for their experiment,” Maxx casually declared, as if he just recited a nursery rhyme out loud.

Briony swallowed. Libertus and Crowe and Pelna made a chorus of audible gasps.

Nyx’s eyes widened and snarled, “You’re lying.”

“Oh Nyx, why should I lie?” Maxx took a deep breath. “I know I’m no scholar nor am I some esteemed genius with any credentials to follow my name. And yes, I may not look like it, but seriously—I’m really very old and I’m very tired and I’ve seen enough shit in the two millennia of my existence. There’s nothing much I could gain from lying to any of you.”

Another silence. Pelna was pro-active enough to break it. “Well, guess we’ll find out in that facility up there,” he suggested.

“Exactly.” Maxx lifted Whiskey off of him and let her saunter away. Whiskey only leaped this time on Briony’s lap, and Briony only cuddled her close for her own comfort. Maxx went on as he dusted his pants and finally rose to his full height. “Look, I could go on and on about Niflheim’s garbage on fake news and alternative facts, but that’s a thousand years worth of info to go over a single night. So to answer the question of this lovely lady right here—” Maxx directed his attention back to Briony— “I’m not saying that the Cosmogony is not true. But one must read it with a grain of salt. Besides, if men can speak of lies, men can sure write them, too.”

 

* * *

 

The trek to the Magitek facility was awfully silent. Underneath the cold and starlit sky, even the trees and the birds refused to make any sound. It was only their heavy footsteps that scraped the gravelly slope that echoed along the narrow mountain trail. With their flashlight beams illuminating the way, Maxx and Whiskey led them along the path, followed by Crowe, Libertus, and Pelna. Briony and Nyx lagged a couple of steps behind.

In this awful silence, Briony mulled over the recent turn of events. She processed her thoughts and questions better in lists and a couple of profanities, so again, in her head it went something like this:

  1. _Dream with Mom and who the fuck is Hestia?_
  2. _Cosmogony and what the fuck is with all the inaccuracies?_
  3. _Prophecy and why the fuck did I not know about this?_
  4. _What the actual fuck is happening???_



First, Briony kept recalling the dream she had about her mother. She was never one to believe in signs and superstitions that came in dreams, but the fact that Pryna appeared to her felt like an omen—ill or otherwise, she could not bring herself to say. And then there's a name she mentioned.  _Find Hestia,_ she had told her, as if finding a person was such an easy task. Insomnia had nearly thirty million people living in the metropolis alone, and the thought of finding one Hestia was enough to make Briony nauseous. She contemplated on looking into the public records in the Citadel registry. Or maybe, the dream could refer to the mythical goddess, so she could probably look into the library...

Thinking about the Citadel library only landed her to her second point.

Briony stewed and broiled all the things she had learned about the Cosmogony. In times of doubt, she would usually reach out to Johanna when it came down to an in-depth explanation of the lore and history that governed Eos. Gladio typically geeked out on sci-fi and poetry, so he was always excluded out of her options when it came to this area. She hated to admit it, but it was times like this that she really did miss Johanna. And Cor, because he would be the first one to recommend to drop by the library. And of course, Gladio, too, because Gladio was a constant force that propelled in her life and she would be lost without her best friend. Truly and utterly lost. 

She instinctively reached for her phone at the back pocket of her jeans, fueled by the need to text or call them for some clarity… and it only took a second for her to remember that it was pretty useless when the reception around the mountainous area was still dead.

Briony blinked the random sentiment away and diverted her focus on the third point instead.

She repeated the prophecy in her head, digesting, marinating, letting it all sink in. _And when light has been restored, a forgotten flower shall blossom in the desert, ushering a sweet song to an empire's downfall… Did Luna ever know? She always loved reading these things. Would she be angry if she knew what she missed? Would she be upset?_

As they marched to a slightly wider trail, Nyx appeared beside her, promptly distracting her away from her restless mind. “You okay, partner?”

“I’m fine,” she said, obviously unsure. In a hushed tone, she asked in return, “And you? You said you were fine, but as it turns out, you failed to mentioned to me that you got a fractured rib.”

Nyx only smiled. “I didn’t want to worry you—“

“It’s my job to worry about you—I mean, _all_ of you.” Briony suddenly felt the temperature rising in her cheeks. _Is it even legal to be this charming when he isn’t doing anything charming? And why am I thinking about him being charming? What is happening to me, I'm supposed to hate him, am I spiraling—_

“You sure you’re okay? You look feverish,” Nyx asked again in a whisper, and in a heartbeat, he leaned closer and his hand was on her forehead.

Briony quickly took his hand away and held it firmly. She smiled, menacing. “I said I was _fine."_

Nyx, as if to tease her, laced his fingers with hers. “Then I’m glad you’re fine, partner.”

Briony blushed like her cheeks had been solar-powered.

She squeezed Nyx’s hand in her grip. “I’m going to break your fingers, I swear to—“

“Oh, I don’t think you could do that. Because you’ll have to patch me up again if you do.” Nyx smirked, positively enjoying this moment.

 _This is annoying, why does his hand have to be this warm and fucking cozy?_ “I really hate you,” Briony sneered, jerking her hand off of Nyx. “Let go of me.”

Nyx cheekily grinned. “I hate you, too. But I can’t have a small child like you wandering around the forest.” 

Their moment was long enough that Pelna—of course, by some impeccable timing of the universe—peeked behind his shoulder to witness Nyx and Briony holding hands.

Nyx and Briony finally both let go of each other. Pelna snickered.

Eyes forward, Pelna said, “Let me know if you need me to go on further ahead so you can have some fine moment—“

“No need, I’ll go ahead by myself,” Briony said, jogging past Nyx and Pelna leaving them a few ways behind. She went to Libertus and Crowe, who walked closely behind Maxx and Whiskey.

“Nyx giving you trouble?” Libertus asked without turning around. The sly tone of his voice said something else.

“Nah, it’s fine.” Briony replied, pressing her hands to her cheeks. Her palms smelled of Nyx, forest and mint.  _He smells nice. Why does he even smell nice? Why is the world unfair?_

 _"_ I can feel you blushing from here, Ronnie." Crowe teased.

Briony rattled, "Nah, it's just the weather, Crowe. I'm fine. It's fine. Everything's fine." 

Their walk returned to a concentrated silence when the trail gradually curved to steeper slopes and sharper cliffs that the narrow path of rock and soil leading forward was sandwiched by a daunting sea of trees way below on their left and only the wide wall of boulders on the other. Their only consolation if they fell off the ridges was the blanket of stars above _. It would be the last thing I see if I fall to my death,_ Briony thought, which was a terrifying thing to even entertain. She didn't want to die falling off this mountain—she would want to die knowing at least what happened to her mother. Alas, Briony only held onto that thought and her fragment of courage in every step as they carefully traversed the perilous path.

Once they reached another meadow of dirt, the Magitek facility was already looming at the distance. Briony heard everyone exhale in utmost relief.

As they continued to walk down a treeless road, Crowe suddenly began, “Okay, so Maxx—out of curiosity, is it weird if I ask how Messengers are even named? Like, is Maxwell Tarrant even your real name?”

“Why, yes.” Maxx’s voice beamed. Meanwhile, Whiskey was already far ahead of them, frolicking along the path. “Ramuh is sentimental like that. Well, as far as the other Astrals are concerned at least—he's the nicest one to us Messengers. Except for letting me face this ridiculous disciplinary action, he's a good pop."

“So it’s right to assume that Whiskey has a name of her own, then?” Libertus followed up. He looked behind to make sure Nyx heard his question. Briony turned, and she saw Nyx making a face at Libertus.

“Well, I’m glad you asked!” Maxx excitedly chirped in. “Nyx, I love you and you’re my bud, but Whiskey hated the name Whiskey. But she had to forgive you because, well, she knew why you had to name her into a fine alcoholic drink. Now she’s fond of it in a love-hate relationship kind of way.”

“But you keep calling her Whiskey,” Briony noted. “Is it okay for her to be called by her real name?”

Maxx stopped. In front of them, Maxx looked like a tower of brawn and muscle, their flashlight beams his spotlight. He turned around, and considered Briony for a moment.

“I haven’t asked her that, actually,” Maxx sounded doubtful, playing with the piercing on his left ear. “But… I don’t know. It might be a touchy subject for her, and I don’t really want to push her buttons and make her upset so I don’t call her by that.”

“So, what is it then?” Crowe insisted, curious. "Promise we won't tell, because she might set us on fire."

He peeked over his shoulder to make sure Whiskey was out of earshot. “You didn’t hear this from me, but it’s Hestia,” Maxx said, his voice low. “Whiskey’s real name is Hestia.”

 


	9. Gladiolus Amicitia

Gladio found it increasingly difficult to preserve any form of hope when every television and radio station on broadcast in the Crown City blared on repeat that his best friend was missing.

He could already hear the very same news softly mumbling through the gaps of his bedroom door. _Even with their recent victories… Five soldiers of the Kingsglaive… missing… No contact has been made at this time…_ until the words and the shrill voice of the newscaster grew more painfully audible. Gladio grimaced and burrowed himself deeper into his pillows. Jared, their family chamberlain, must have increased the sound to full volume; in his seventies and slowly wilting sense of hearing, Gladio couldn’t quite fault Jared for his rather lively morning rituals. The old man religiously followed the current events the same way one followed a moral code, and it kept the Amicitia household brimming with the humdrum of domestic life.

But it was too early for the humdrum. The darkness of early morning still lingered and the sun was still asleep.

Gladio, struggling to rise out of bed and still buried underneath the sheets in his boxers and his rubber ducky socks, sluggishly reached for his phone from his bedside table. It was only five-thirteen a.m….

And of course, the first set of notifications that he had to see on his lock screen just had to be from his persistent ex-girlfriend.

There was Amara’s three missed calls dated the previous night, and two text messages that said:

_Ames 10:09 PM you haven’t been in your apartment for days._

_Ames 10:09 PM i’d really appreciate if you stop avoiding me so we could properly talk._

Gladio produced a guttural groan of frustration. For the life of him and for the sake of all that had been good in his relationship with Amara, he had already lost count on how many times that he and Amara had spared each other the time to _properly talk,_ a conversation that always, certainly always, started amiably and would quickly spiral into either two of these things: a full-scale argument or a full-scale make-up sex.

And Gladio, for the life of him and for the sake of all that was good in his existence, wanted these things to just fully and uncompromisingly come to a complete stop.

But he wasn’t exactly in a cooperative mood to deal with Amara anytime soon, which was why he sought temporary refuge back at his family home just so he could avoid any possibility of bumping into her. And he couldn’t bring himself to deal with the trivialities of his mundane life, not when there were bigger things to deal with, not when there were tougher responsibilities to carry out, not when his best friend was out there fighting the war.

Not when his best friend was still fucking missing.

Gladio distracted himself by scrolling through his other messages. It was mostly from his _Bros b4 Ho3s_ group chat—one that included Noctis, Ignis, and Prompto—and was adequately utilized for all things shenanigans, which Gladio dutifully skipped for the meantime. The rest were already past message threads from his dad, his sister, Cor, and Sania.

Then he came across almost a week’s worth of his unresponded correspondences with Ronnie:

_12:01 AM i got your little present and i can’t believe u wrote ‘don’t fucking do it’ in 50 sheets of rolled paper just for me u are too fucking awful and sweet_

_12:02 AM anyway if you get this please call us back or send a raven_

_12:03 AM just contact us asap_

_8:57 AM talked to cor and i just want u to know that even if he says in confidence that u r safe, i can totally tell he’s still worried_

_9:13 PM ronnie_

_9:13 PM RONNIE_

_9:13 PM EOS TO RONNIE_

_9:13 PM RONNIE RONNIE RONNIE_

_9:14 PM cupcake_

_9:14 PM peperronnie PEPPERONNIE_

_9:14 PM where the hell are u ronnie???_

_9:15!PM u deserve to be informed they showed ur headshot in the news_

_7:44 AM another update: i thought u should know that cor denies that he’s worried about u but we can see that he is restless and makes everyone of us in the crownsguard do thrice our usual drills_

_11:01 AM ronnie_

_11:02 AM noct iggy & prom wanted u to know that they miss u and that they are out to take your stash of honey butter almonds in my closet if you don’t come back soon _

_4:29 AM i feel like i’ve been screaming to the void but please come home. please be alive._

_4:30 AM i miss u, ronnie._

Amidst rereading his silly, hopelessly unanswered messages, Gladio replayed his worn-out reel of worries. For what it’s worth, when Cor reached out to tell Gladio what happened on his little trip to the Citadel library to speak with Johanna, he came to guarantee Ronnie’s safety, which somehow still failed to guarantee Ronnie’s eventual return. Cor never fully disclosed as to how Johanna, _of all people,_ stern and ruthless as she was, would even be capable of sharing a time of her day to determine this kind of info. Equally, Gladio never fully understood how Cor, _of all people,_ logical and level-headed as he was, would simply trust the word of the head librarian and take it as an absolute truth.

And it was not that Gladio doubted Johanna’s credibility as a trustworthy source of information. Johanna could make writing a dissertation like a walk in the park, and gathering intel like child’s play. But it was clear as any sunny day in Galdin Quay that sharing _her_ intel for the military force was way out of Johanna’s line of duty.

Moreover, Johanna made her disdain for both the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive as clear as any sunny day in _all_ of Lucis, deigning their requests should she deem it less important than the next civilian in line, that the idea of Cor getting through to her made their meeting all the more interesting _and_ intriguing.

In any case, there were many possibilities that he could entertain around their current situation in order for it to gain any lick of sense. And inasmuch as Gladio had wanted to bombard Cor with questions, Gladio knew better than to test the waters for a second time—he felt that he had used his lucky turn when he recklessly asked a personal question that finally explored the uncharted subject that was Cor’s relationship with Ronnie’s adoptive mother. Somehow, Gladio had managed a brand new form of tact despite his outspoken nature, and decided to save his throng of queries at a later time.

But all things considered, Gladio trusted Cor’s judgment, just as how he always trusted his father’s. And right now, all he could do was confide in Johanna’s word, hold onto hope, and believe in Ronnie...

Just before his mind could descend into a terrifying territory of his anxieties, a new message thrummed on his phone screen:

_Ignis 5:44 AM Good morning. We’re on our way._

In an instant, Gladio jolted out of his bed. He had completely forgotten that he had agreed to help Ignis in tutoring Noctis and Prompto for their finals, and Gladio’s help came in the form of offering his family’s study. The offer only stemmed from the prince’s adamant refusal to stay anywhere near the Citadel during exam season, and with the prince’s apartment under maintenance after Prompto accidentally activated the fire sprinkler system when he burned strips of sliced spam that even a five-year-old child could fry, the guys had few other options left.

But what was surprising was how Ignis got to convince their lazy ass friends to be up before sunrise.

Gladio shot Ignis a reply before he took off to the bathroom:

_5:45 AM ok. but how the hell were u able to get noct and prom THIS early???_

Freshly showered and in a hurry, Gladio got dressed in a white cotton shirt and faded blue jeans, drew the curtains back to saturate his room with the soft pink light of dawn, and made quick work in cleaning his room. Compared to his flat in downtown Insomnia, Gladio’s bedroom was less spacious and more cluttered, an ungodly feast of textures and furniture. Within the four corners of the concrete walls of his room, it housed oaken bookcases packed with his collection of hardbound poetry books and glossy graphic novels; metal racks loaded with his gym gear and camping equipment; ladder shelves stocked with his favorite video game titles and his gaming console, all carefully tucked underneath a neatly installed flat screen TV; and at the center of it all stood a ragged yet cozy canopy bed that had seen better days.

On his way out, Gladio retrieved his phone and skimmed through a couple of unread messages from Ignis:

_Ignis 5:47 AM To ensure His Highness’s cooperation in reviewing everything he needs to learn to pass his finals_

_Ignis 5:47 AM I simply bribed him with one unsupervised weekend to do whatever he pleased, which included eating all the unhealthy garbage he could possibly stomach._

_Ignis 5:47 AM As for Prompto, he was easily contented when I told him I’d let him drive the Regalia if he passed._

_Ignis 5:48 AM Anyway, I’m about to drive. Shall speak to you later._

Gladio stifled a laugh. Prompto was the easier party to be convinced, to be sure. But it astounded Gladio how Ignis sometimes used his tactical shrewdness to persuade Noctis to do the most menial of tasks, from memorizing a clause of the Lucian Constitution down to eating a salad.

As he padded his way downstairs, the droning of the morning news had been replaced by a perky cooking show. Gladio was immediately welcomed by the succulent scent of honeyed bacon wafting from the kitchen, and the unusual sight of his sister lounging at the couch, nibbling a sandwich.

“Good morning, Gladdy!”

As early as six a.m, Iris Amicitia was a beacon of energy in her pink, moogle-patterned jammies, already equipped to function like an adult at fifteen, even in the absence of caffeine. In her exuberant morning face radiated the graceful culmination of all the best Amicitia traits: her brother’s charming smile, their father’s immaculate bone structure, and most of all, their mother’s smoldering amber eyes.

“Mornin’,” Gladio greeted, mussing up Iris’s already mussed up crop of cocoa hair as he scooted right next to her. “You’re up early. Why are you eating here? And where’s Jared?”

“Cooking more bacon and eggs,” Iris made a face and took another bite from what seemed to be her share of bacon and eggs tucked in two pieces of wheat bread. With her sandwich-free hand, she tried to fix her hair back to its cute tousle. “And I’m up early because I have a date.”

“I beg your freaking pardon, miss?” Gladio fired Iris an incredulously fierce glare that screeched follow-up questions like _Who’s this date? What’s his name? Where does he live? How dare he?_

Iris giggled at the sheer obviousness of Gladio’s overprotectiveness. “Date with _Dad,_ you dummy,” she rolled her eyes, amused. She scarfed down the last bite of her sandwich and swept the crumbs on her pink pyjamas. “I’m meeting him at the Citadel to bring him a fresh set of clothes, and then he’ll accompany me to the store to help me pick up some heavy fabric for my fashion project because _someone I know_ promised to come along and spend the rest of the day with me—but instead, he chose his friends over his sister. I wonder who that could be.”

Iris may have lightheartedly aired out her grievances but Gladio was immediately swept away with guilt. Admittedly, he had completely forgotten about his supposed date with Iris when he had invited the boys to come over. “I’m really sorry. It’s just… I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “I’ll get you that portable sewing—“

“Nah, it’s okay!” Iris smiled, and Gladio knew it was the smile Iris had always rehearsed whenever the first signs of sadness crept up on her. Gladio’s guilt weighed even heavier. Iris timidly backpedaled, “I was just messin’ with you. And I know you’ve been out of sorts lately, being worried about Ronnie and all.”

Gladio sheepishly avoided his sister’s thoughtful look and tried to focus on the cooking segment showing on the TV screen, in which the host and their guests happily minced onions and capers for a recipe Gladio could not distinguish. Under his breath, he said, “I ain’t worried.”

“You’re the worst liar ever.” Iris playfully enunciated every syllable in pure admonishment. “And Gladdy, despite what the news has been saying, I really think she’ll be fine! She’ll come back soon—I feel it in my bones. I just know it,” she confidently reassured Gladio. Somehow, Iris’s ever so positive attitude comforted him. Their father had often noted how Iris not only had their mother’s eyes, but she, too, possessed their mother’s great fortitude. And Iris, having known the equally fortitudinous Ronnie since she was a kid, only amplified this irrepressible trait as it were.

And Gladio could use every bit of his sister’s or his mother’s brand of fortitude right about now.

“Yeah, I know she will be,” he sighed his remaining apprehensions away. “I just—“

“You just miss her.” Iris casually finished her brother’s sentence, and a gentle yet teasing smile curled on her face.

This time, Gladio only resigned himself to honesty and admitted, “I sure as hell do.”

“Well, at least you’re honest about _that.”_

“Now, what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Iris shrugged. “I do miss Ronnie, too. And if Ronnie was here, she’d probably tell us to stop moping and keep hoping!” Iris glanced at the wall where an old clock was perched above the TV. “Holy crap, I gotta go—” she sprang to her feet and gave Gladio the briefest of hugs— ”see you later for dinner love you please don’t throwapartyandruinourhousebye!“ She scampered up the stairs, retreating to her room.

_Stop moping and keep hoping, huh._

Gladio dwelled on the strangely sage advice as he was left to embrace the vastness of the living room, the chirpy cooking music swelling from the TV, and the space that Iris left behind.

 

* * *

 

Before noon, the round table in the middle of the Amicitia family study had been swamped by textbooks. And over this dioramic city of towers built in heaps of leather-covered records and chaotic roads paved in academic journals, four men closely huddled around: Noctis Lucis Caelum, dark and brooding; Prompto Argentum, sunny and slouching; Ignis Scientia, stern and steady; and Gladiolus Amicitia, eager and daunting.

“Times up, lads. It’s Q and A time,” Ignis announced. Prim and proper in his black dress shirt and trousers matched with his signature swept-up dirty blonde hair, Ignis made it his serious business that Noctis and Prompto both ace their finals in glorious flying colors. Adjusting his glasses, he drew out a sheet from his set of meticulously prepared flash cards. He read a question out loud: “Under whose regime was the Income Tax Amendment ratified?”

Without batting an eyelash, Noctis answered: “My dad’s.”  

Ignis shot Noctis an unamused look. “Noct, surely you won’t write down _‘my dad’s’_ in your test paper—“

 _“Fine—_ King Regis Lucis Caelum, 113th King of Lucis, father to the awesome Prince Noctis,” Noctis wickedly beamed at his crafty reference to himself in third person. Gladio and Prompto choked down their laughter. “Did I now get it right, Specs?”

Ignis only shook his head. “You got the first part right, I’ll give you that.”

Noctis protested, “Hey—”

Gladio cut him off and turned to call Prompto. “So, blondie. What is the name of the ancient civilization that prospered in Eos—”

“Solheim!” Prompto answered in his most enthusiastic voice that he didn’t even give Gladio a chance to complete the question. If Iris was a beacon of energy, Prompto was no less a power plant of high spirits, even if he was clad in a black punk rock sleeveless shirt and dark pants. He cheerily bragged and pointed at Noctis, “Take that, Your Highness! The score is now eight to seven in favor of Prompto Argentum, First of His Name, Keeper of Promises and Breaker of High Scores in King’s Knight—”

“Why does Prompto get the easiest history question and I get to deal with the Lucian Constitution?” Noctis complained.

Prompto folded his arms over his chest and grinned. “Uh, because you’re a _prince_ and I’m a _pauper—”_

“No.” This time, it was Prompto who received the brunt of Ignis’s sharp look that he flinched. “You need not fret—both of you will get a fair share of questions from subjects you despise.” Noctis and Prompto exchanged a miserable look and groaned altogether. Ignis cleared his throat, and commanded, “Now, onto the next.”

Back and forth they went, Ignis and Gladio hurled questions that varied from political science to classical history all the way down to current events, while Prompto and Noctis parried with their best answers and worst guesses. Somewhere in between, Jared came in with a tray of cheeseburgers and bottles of Ebony, which were all wolfed down in less than an hour. After some time, Gladio left Ignis to do all the quizzing as he riffled through the random notebooks and binders of newspaper clippings strewn all over the table, until he came across a binder with its cover boldly labeled in all caps: _[POLSCI251] NOBLE HOUSES, NEWS ARTICLES, ETC._ Gladio flipped it open and immediately found an old headline from a Lucian publication:

> **_The Queens Are Dead: Remembering the Deaths of Empress Sophia Lux Aldercapt of Niflheim, Queen Sylva Via Fleuret of Tenebrae, and Queen Aulea Lucis Caelum of Lucis_ **
> 
> _Nine years after the death of Queen Aulea, the world once again was glued to the news and left reeling from the shocking deaths of Queen Sylva and Empress Sophia at the hands of the Empire. In the weeks that followed, the story of this royal tragedy has dominated every front page of newspapers, nations in mourning and grieving amidst the already tumultuous state of war._

Gladio leafed through the plastic-covered pages, skimming various articles and headlines. Some were recent tabloid clippings that mostly tackled on the people’s growing discontentment towards the monarchy’s “lack of effort” to reclaim the Lucian outlands, and that the Lucian army was “not doing enough” to push back the Empire’s forces. Reading some of it wrung Gladio’s guts into a blend of anger and sadness and frustration. _Soldiers like Ronnie are risking their lives fighting for our lands out there while some people think it’s not enough?_ His mind fumed, racing to all the accounts of sacrifices of all the good men like Cor and King Regis and his father had gone through, only to be diminished by the word of irresponsible journalism. _How many more fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters will have to fight and die in this war for it to be ever enough?_

Gladio skipped the ghastly section and turned the page to another series of articles that boasted most of the noble houses’ accolades. One of which immediately caught his attention, where a colored portrait of a young Amara, blonde and radiant and smiling, was printed on the top-right corner of the headline:

> **_Bright Young Scientist Blossoms From A Noble House of Legislators, Head of House Offers No Word_ **
> 
> _All throughout the years, House Pax has been at the forefront of grooming the finest lawyers and politicians that ever graced the Lucian government. However, Amara Leigh Pax, eldest daughter of the Pax family, has decided to break the mold and venture her knowledge and capacity towards scientific pursuits. Graduated at the tender age of fifteen in the prestigious University of Lucis, Amara Pax is now working together with Sania Yeager, renowned biological engineer and scientist of the Insomnian Science Institute, in an effort to uncover the solution on the rapidly changing ecosystems all across Lucis._
> 
> _In light of this, the distinguished house led by the honorable Lord Lyonel Pax, Lucian Senate President, has not spoken a word about his daughter’s achievements, leaving most to wonder about the relationship between the two._

The more Gladio read the article, the less he felt compelled to be ever convinced to read another social magazine in his lifetime. As far as Gladio’s knowledge on Amara was concerned, she spoke highly of her father and always acknowledged his fervent support in her research. Even more so that Amara had excitedly introduced Gladio to her father on one of the annual galas hosted by the royal family. Lyonel Pax was a quiet, amiable man who shared the same prominent features of their family: short crop of blonde hair, light blue eyes, and a silent yet powerful comportment befitting a man of his calibre. He couldn’t imagine him being a cold and dismissive father, not when he had witnessed the closeness of their relationship firsthand.

Unless...

_How can I be sure that I really knew the real Amara?_

He quickly dismissed the forbidding thought and slapped the binder shut.

As Gladio returned his attention to his friends, he noticed that across from him, Prompto already had his face buried on one of the Cosmogony books while Ignis tested Noctis’s familiarity on the greater Lucian houses. Noctis recited some familiar and unfamiliar names—Amicitia, Gloria, Palma, Pax, Virtus—as if chanting a magical oath. Meanwhile, Gladio yanked the book underneath Prompto’s head.

“I promise I wasn’t napping,” Prompto said defensively, obviously startled—but in a matter of seconds, he immediately redeemed his usual energetic self. “I was just closing my eyes for three very long seconds!”

“Nice try, buddy.” Gladio briefly scanned the page where Prompto’s drool had been stamped on its corners:

> **_The Hexatheon and the Divine Host_ **
> 
> _It is said that, in the beginning, the Six fought side by side with mankind. Even so, the deities themselves seldom appeared before mortals, and instead sent loyal servants to convey their divine will to the Oracle. These servants are known as Messengers, and they number twenty-four._

“Anyway—” Prompto snatched the book from Gladio— “You know, Ronnie would definitely have a field day helping us review for Cosmogony Studies if she was here.”

To be fair, there was absolutely nothing wrong with what Prompto had said, but something about it made Gladio miss Ronnie with a painful swell that he did not anticipate, that his only response was to nod without his usual clever quip or cheeky response. When they said that absence made the heart grow fonder, Gladio’s heart failed to recognize the concept. Absence only made his heart yearn.

And in light of his silent and meager response, Prompto and Noctis eyed him curiously. Ignis, true to his intuitive nature, noticed the heaviness of the pause that he asked, “No word from her still?”

Gladio hung his head low. “Not a single text.”

"I remember Master Clarus noting in yesterday's council meeting that Captain Drautos has already sent reinforcements to Eastern Galahd to find Briony's team," Ignis mentioned, an offering to assuage all of their worries—Gladio's most especially. "We should be receiving reports soon enough—"

“Um, Gladio?” Noctis blurted out in interruption as he was poring over one of the binders with a label on its spine that said in screaming all caps _[HISTORY] UNSOLVED CASES_ , his face wrinkled in concentration. “Sorry, but where did you say Ronnie was assigned again?”

“Eastern Galahd,” Gladio repeated, turning to Noctis who was obviously not paying attention to what Ignis was saying. “Why?”

“So, I don't wanna be a buzzkill, but you guys have to take a look at this.” Noctis slid over the section he was reading. “It’s an article from a decade ago.”

> **_Magitek Facility in Galahd: Reason Behind Cases of Villagers' Disappearance?_ **
> 
> _Since the establishment of the Magitek Facility in Eastern Galahd, a strange phenomenon has been reported by hunters regarding the growing number of missing villagers. Lucca, one of the villages in the region, has been entirely abandoned when all of its residents have mysteriously disappeared. Unlike the tragedy that first befell Eastern Galahd when a vicious hurricane ravaged the land, leaving a small coastal village dead in its wake, it is still unknown what could have been the fate of these missing Galahdians when no bodies have been found nor any incriminating evidence has been uncovered on the scene of the crime. As of today, none of the band of mercenaries and reinforcements from Meldacio HQ who were sent to investigate the facility's involvement have managed to return._

As they gathered around and read the file, they couldn't help but trade worried glances. Gladio forced himself to remember all the words of reassurance that grounded his confidence of Ronnie's return.

_Stop moping and keep hoping..._

The words dissipated in the overwhelming prospect of her not coming home that Gladio could taste the bitter void of Ronnie's absence in his mouth.

 


	10. Nyx Ulric

When Nyx was twelve, Maxx took him out for a hike up the famed ivory mountain range of Galahd. It had been the first time anyone had taken him out on the mountains—having been raised so close to the sea, Nyx had never indulged on the idea of putting himself through the tortuous climb. For the record, he had only considered the notion when the ever so clever Maxwell Tarrant had made the hiking invitation seem less of a friendly escapade and more of a brotherly challenge.

And the young and perennially reckless Nyx Ulric was never one to turn down any form of challenge.

Though it had been an awfully arduous journey navigating the dusty trail, traversing the white-cleaved crags, and dispensing all the curses under his breath when his knees were wobbly and sore, his legs were shaking and trembling in pain, and his lungs were ripe to burst, it was that time in Nyx’s life that he was baptized by his many firsts, such as foraging for food. Maxx teaching him how to hunt. Finally getting to hunt a rabbit and making a meal out of it. Sleeping underneath the stars. Reaching a mountain’s summit. Screaming at the top of his lungs when he did. Relishing the wondrous feeling of being so inimitably _alive._

In the gallery of his childhood memories, Nyx had the image of that entire experience archived, and he only replayed it with aching fondness. From the highest peak, the island of Eastern Galahd was a divine plethora of blues and greens: in the east, a grand spread of forests were quilted by streams and rivers, festooned by ruddy hills and verdant pastures. In the west, the mountainside was adorned by rugged coastal cliffs that swept in a scythe of Evergreen Beach. Beyond, the ocean broadened towards the horizon, wide and resplendent.

Needless to say, the view from the top was nothing short of breathtaking. And Nyx, throughout the course of his adolescent years, had climbed that peak time and again, usually dragging Libertus or Selena or Maxx or all three of them, savouring and saving every image of the same view on its different illustrious occasions: on a summer’s night and a winter’s morning, on a cold sunrise and a burning sunset, almost on any given time and moment of day. He lavished on the irrevocable pride it awarded him, that truly, the world below was really his home.

Nyx could only marvel at the thought of it.

Two decades, several battle-earned scars, and numerous exploits later, in the night sky emblazoned by billions of stars, the haven that rested almost at a cliff’s edge where the group decided to take their final pitstop granted Nyx a closer look of the same place that he now had a terrible time to recognize. From where he stood, the island of Eastern Galahd was covered in a veneer of mist: in the east, the forest was haunting, and the hills and pastures were smeared by the red and gold lights of Imperial outposts. In the west, the rocky cliffs that hugged Evergreen Beach were terrorized by a humongous multistory monstrosity of metal and iron that was the Magitek Facility. Beyond, the ocean was dark and raging.

Needless to say, the view was nothing short of heartbreaking. The world around him was reduced to a shadow of a memory, and Nyx could only mourn in silence.

The landscape was now too different, even the air was far too different, everything’s just too fucking different.

Even Maxx—his old friend, esteemed confidant, the elder brother he wished he had—turned out to be different.

He shoved that treacherous thought aside.

“What’s got ya brooding there, son?”

 _Speak of the devil._ Nyx turned to see Maxx sidling up to him, Whiskey cradled in his arms. Behind them, the trees rustled and formed a towering wall of silhouettes as the light of the campfire blazed, with Crowe and Briony chatting over randomly crafted magic spells, and Pelna perusing over his mobile device, probably programming one of his many genius tricks that Nyx had requested from him in line with their task ahead. Libertus, on the other hand, stood on guard on the other side of the haven, casting an invisible barrier all around the vicinity.

It took a long second before Nyx decided to acknowledge Maxx and Whiskey’s company. “Don’t call me that,” was what he managed to say first, albeit a little too dryly. “And I’m not your son.”

“Well, you’re young enough to be,” Maxx countered, and his voice radiated amusement. Nyx only shook his head and shrugged, choosing to pay more attention to the sound of the crashing waves and the howling breeze instead of what Maxx had to say.

But Maxx was obviously having none of it.

He began, “Y’know, it’d be a whole lot easier if you didn’t pretend that you’re not mad or upset at me—“

“Mad at you about what?” Nyx failed to mask the edging tension in his voice. “That you’re actually a thousand-year-old Messenger? Maxx, seriously—it’d be a whole lot easier if you gave me a little more credit than that.”

To his true credit, Nyx could not bring himself to be angry at Maxx. It was unsettling to find out the truth about his old friend, to be sure, but it was just that—a feeling of strangeness and disconnect, but most certainly not anger. In the first place, Nyx was not exactly the religious type who followed the traditional faith in higher beings; he had himself tethered to only trust anything that his five senses could grasp, and to only believe in the power of small acts of genuine kindness. Hence, Nyx saw no reason to harbor any sort of ill will against Maxx, even after that revelation. If anything, Maxx had been as real and tangible as his best friend Libertus, and Maxx’s acts of kindness that he had showered upon Nyx in his childhood days had been genuine at best.

And to him, that was all that truly mattered.

Sheepishly, Nyx continued, “And, besides… I know you got your reasons. I respect that. Everyone’s got their own secrets…”

“And I can hear the _‘but’_ punctuating that sentence." Maxx smiled, looking at the distance. Whiskey made a soft purr and curled herself even more within the confines of Maxx’s beefy arms. “So if you’re not upset with me, what’s with that murderous look on your face?”

Nyx smiled. “I think you’re just seeing my murderously handsome face—”

“Smooth but not smooth enough, kid. I taught you better than that.” Maxx laughed and gave Nyx a gentle clap on the back. And with Maxx’s obviously intimidating physique, to Nyx it felt more of a gentle shove. He insisted, “C’mon, I’m all ears.”

“I just… I don’t think I can explain it.”

“You can at least try.”

Nyx sighed. He had forgotten how Maxx’s manifestation of concern came with his relentless persistence to reach out. It was a phenomenon how Maxx never got any trouble with it. From an outsider’s perspective, Maxx—given his formidable height at six-nine, his metal-studded ears, and a body of a champion that could send an army of seasoned soldiers running for their money—could be easily stereotyped as an unforgiving hunter or a menacing goon. Or both. The thing was, both of these also could be easily established as facts when it came to Maxx, all because there’s a certain truth to it. But it was merely the tip of the iceberg, a scratch on the surface in the living paradox that was Maxwell Tarrant. He may be a ruthless, cold-blooded warrior in battle, but his easygoing charm and selflessness to those who truly know him was enough testament to Maxx’s warmhearted nature.

“I’m… Maybe it’s just… I’m more mad at myself,” Nyx finally admitted. “And yeah, well—finding out that thing about you kinda threw me off a bit, but trust me, it’s not about that.” Nyx hesitated for a moment, but he went on, “It’s like, is it possible to be so homesick even if you’re already home? What’s the word when you’re lonely being home? ‘Cause I’m here, back in Galahd, yet it doesn’t _feel_ quite like home. It’s pathetic, really. I’m having a hard time processing all of this, how everything’s not what it used to be… and I’m mad at myself for feeling so helpless. I’m mad at my own helplessness. For just being so powerless to change… _anything.”_

The silence was somber yet solemn, heavy with the weight of Nyx’s sentiments. For the past few days, he had moored the ship of his miseries and all the ache and the swell and the longing that came along with it at the quay of his mind, hoping it would sink in its own time.

Somehow, letting it sail and sharing it with Maxx made him feel a little bit lighter.

 _“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,”_ Maxx muttered out of the blue as he carefully let Whiskey down. The cat purred and padded her way to Nyx, and Nyx scooped her up and cuddled her like a baby. Maxx continued, “It’s a simple concept that governs the universe. And what I find funny is how you mortals actually had to coin it into a scientific law before you had to appreciate its wisdom, when it existed in every interaction and every relationship known to man.

“So where am I going with this, you might ask?” His question was purely rhetorical, Nyx knew, so he just shrugged as a gesture for Maxx to proceed. Maxx cleared his throat and clapped his hands eagerly, as if about to deliver a lecture. “As Messengers, my brethren and I have been fashioned by the Astrals to relay their message, watch over you stinkin’ lot, and to act as mankind’s guardian spirit. And I’ve lived long enough to know how many times my actions have done any good, and which ones... have probably made things worse.

“But, anyway. It’s like this. Remember that time I first took you out here on the mountains?”

Nyx nodded as he rubbed Whiskey’s back.

Maxx eased into one of his many charming smiles, the one that spoke volumes of pride and self-satisfaction. “I have to admit, I was anticipating two reactions from you on that trip—that you’d either love the mountains or you’d grow up to hate it. But I never expected at all that you’d love it so much that you’ll make a constant effort to return to that mountain peak, even dragging Lib and Sel as time went by, sharing with them that sense of wonder you’ve witnessed with your own eyes. Believe me, I was impressed. See? In that moment, we exchanged a series of actions and reactions. One that was born simply out of my intention to show you what this beautiful mountain range looks like, and one that was born out of your newfound love for the outdoors.

“And I have to be honest—and this is just my personal opinion—but I’ve always had this notion that humans are the worst living creatures in the cosmos. My love-hate relationship towards your species just runs bone deep, and I honest-to-Ramuh think that Eos should have been a planet for cats and dogs alone. But there are moments that make me take a step back, like, that time when I saw how you, a boy of twelve, steeling and braving yourself to climb the steepest slopes? And that look of awe in your eyes that time we reached the peak? That scream of unabashed joy in seeing the beauty of this Star where you live? I was like, ‘Man, this is what I _live_ for—the purest form of humanity!’

“And that moment was one of the many moments that reminded me of what I’ve always loved about you humans—your resiliency and your ability to thrive and live in spite of the worst of everything _._ And that moment reminded me of what I’ve always sworn to protect, and what I’ve always sworn to do: that in all the different lifetimes I get to live, I swear upon the Stormsender whom I serve that I’ll always safeguard mortals who exhibit that fighting spirit, the ones who dare to defy any odds, no matter how great or small.

“So as long-winded as all of that sounds, my point is this: grant yourself a minute to wallow in that helplessness, Nyx, but by all means—do whatever it takes to rise out of it and let that feeling fuel you.” Maxx briefly paused, and he saw that he had Nyx’s full and undivided attention, his eyes burning with renewed resolve. He pressed on, “Because whatever action you decide to do from here on out, regardless if things are under your control or have spiraled out of it, whether you give in to the feeling of powerlessness or just like that day you were first climbing this mountain, you choose to soldier on... somewhere out there, a twelve-year-old Galahdian boy or maybe a ten-year-old Tenebraean girl or some fella who you will never get to meet will live long enough to see the rippling effect of your actions.” And true to Maxx’s relentless nature, he only decided to fan the flame even further as he added, “So, Nyx. You may not be able to change anything from the past, or anything right at this moment, but whatever you choose to do right here, right now… that can sure change something for the sake of the future. Whatever you choose to act on today, you better make it count.”

 

 

The Glaives hovered around the campfire, serious and pensive. With Maxx and Whiskey joining their crew, they made the perfect motley band of fighters ready to raise some head-bashing havoc.

“What’s our plan of attack, hero?” Libertus directed the question at Nyx, who had been observing across from him Briony’s staring game with Whiskey, his lazy fire-breathing feline lounging again on Maxx’s left shoulder. Nyx absentmindedly watched as his hunter friend and his constant frenemy exchanged conversation that was barely audible; his arms folded and face bathed in interest, Maxx had to bend his body a little bit to accommodate Briony’s height. Standing beside the gigantic Maxx, Briony seemed so delicately tiny and pocket-sized, a miniature human carved out of feistiness, and Nyx could still remember her warmth on his fingertips, how her hand was a perfect fit with his...

Nyx blinked the thought away and dragged his attention from the strange cat-versus-tiny-human contest to Libertus. His best friend only offered him an annoyingly knowing smile. Nyx returned it with a frown as he noted, “That... would depend on what Pel has in store for us.” He turned to look at Pelna, who was already restless with excitement. “I asked him to scout and do a little bit of digging a while back.”

“Oh, c’mon, Nyx. I don’t just dig—I unearth and I unravel.” Pelna beamed and pulled out his Crown City-issued mobile phone from the back pocket of his jeans. The art of reconnaissance had always been Pelna’s field of expertise, but with his tech-savvy mind and his exceptional hacking skills to boot, he was entirely a league of his own. He made the Glaives’ most covert operations as easy as running an errand down a grocery store. “Ladies and gents and cat—if I may have your attention, please.”

Pelna keyed in a few commands on his phone screen. Seconds later, a hologram of what appeared to be a three-dimensional blueprint of a fortress was projected before them. It was a gossamer of floors, figures, and pixels that floated above the fire, displaying rooms and areas with moving dots of yellows and purples. At the center of it, inside the largest room within the virtual edifice, was an unmoving object marked in red. All eyes examined the image, and all eyes were amazed—Whiskey included, whose ears perked up and heartily mewed.

“I know, guys—I’m awesome. But more importantly, I couldn’t have done this without Maxx’s help.” Pelna aimed his finger guns at Maxx, in which he earned a proud salute in return. “Hacking into that jammer gave me a chance to access the Empire’s network, hence acquiring this beautiful layout of that Magitek facility. I just tweaked it a bit into our liking. Surprisingly, their security cameras are not as sophisticated as I would have expected, so I already marked all the MTs—” he pointed at the yellow markers— “and the MAs—” then at the purple markers— “for a much easier navigation.”

Pelna began to explain in full detail the holographic blueprint as they all gathered closer. With Pelna seamlessly alternating between a couple of security camera footages and the blueprint in the course of his discussion, it had arrived to their conclusion that the Magitek fortress was a rectangular amalgam of a garrison and a research facility. Sightings of different rooms that looked like laboratories and hospital wards came into focus, with corridors flocked by patrolling Magitek troopers. There was also the image of the main entrance, one that led to a conveniently installed elevator that has access to all floors, which was fortified by a couple of Magitek armours on both sides of the gate.

“So to save all of us the time of climbing the whole twenty floors and fighting most of these motherfuckers, our target is the one right in the middle, the one marked in red.” Pelna typed in another set of codes on his device and changed the display to a footage of a large room with a huge, metallic, vortex-like contraption that stretched from floor to ceiling, with a mouth emitting an ominous red glow.

“Behold, the atrocity we have to destroy,” Pelna declared. “The entrance to this area should be around the tenth floor. There seems to be another room behind that, if you’d notice, but I’m suspecting there isn’t any surveillance cameras on that part since I can’t seem to locate that in the database.” He switched the view again back to the blueprint hologram. “It’s important to note that the MTs around here are just _meh—_ just a couple of their standard riflemen and troopers, nothing we _can’t_ handle. But the Niffs seem to have deployed advanced models of their MAs, so we have to be more careful about that. Outside the premises, however… well, that’s the odd part. Except for the MAs on gatekeeper duty, there are no signs of MT patrols. Just like Maxx said. And no daemon sightings, either.”

Maxx chimed in. “Still, we have to be on guard. Daemons could pop out of nowhere and ambush us anytime.” As Whiskey leaped from his shoulder and made her way back to her human owner, Maxx suggested, “It would be best if you guys find a high vantage point and do your warping watchamacallit from there to save you all the energy. Who knows what awaits us inside. Meanwhile, y’all could leave the ground to me and Whiskey.”

“My sweet little bean agreed to help us out?” Nyx asked, more to the cat he now fondly snuggled than to Maxx. Whiskey only answered with a long _meow._

“Can’t she just burn the entire thing down for us?” Libertus asked.

Whiskey hissed and hiccuped a tiny fireball. Nyx flinched and scowled at Libertus, who only mouthed _Oops._

“She says she’s not as powerful as Ifrit, so thank you very much Libertus,” Maxx said, casually translating Whiskey’s purring and hissing into actual human words. “And yes, she’s decided to help. Her secret’s out in the open, so why the fuck not.”

Nyx only snuggled Whiskey closer as his form of thanks, which Whiskey reciprocated with a playful lick on his face.

“But wait… is it just me or there aren’t any humans in there?” Briony observed. Oddly enough, something about her sensible observation made Nyx recall what Maxx had said about Lucca…

Nyx noticed Maxx and Libertus trading a wary glance. Goosebumps prickled his skin, so he pushed the foreboding thought aside.

Nervously, Pelna noted, “Now that you’ve mentioned it… yeah. No sign of that General Whats-his-name mentioned by Captain Drautos, either.”

Briony bit her lip. Nyx was aware how she had been keen to find this Imperial general once they got here, and the look on her eyes was glazed with the thought of revenge.

Before a frightful silence invaded their discussion, Crowe offered, “Well, we won’t really know what’s inside once we’re really in there.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“So that’s all I have,” Pelna concluded, switching off the hologram display. He shoved his device back into his pocket. “To be honest, whoever’s in charge of their network security should be fired, stat. And again, don’t ask me how I did this—it’s a trade secret. And I will probably need to host a series of TED Talks just to share all of this, but I _won’t,_ ‘cause we all know we don’t get paid enough to do just that. So, questions?”

“I have none, but I would honestly love to sign up for that TED Talk, Pelna,” Briony briefly noted, her face illuminated by the firelight and brightened by admiration. “That thing you did was really _genius._ And you were able to do all of _that_ in less than twenty-four hours. How are you real?” With this being Briony’s first expedition with the group of Senior Glaives, it was no surprise that she would be dumbfounded seeing Pelna in action firsthand. Nyx felt the same way, too, when he first worked with Pelna. He might be some laidback, scruffy guy with a handful of smart-ass quips up his sleeve, but when it came to inflicting damage to their Imperial foes with his technical know-how, Nyx knew that Pelna always meant serious business.

Flushed by the high praise, Pelna timidly reached for the back of his head. “Ronnie, you do know how to make a man blush. Just for you, I would love to take you out sometime and teach you everything I know—”

“Wow. Okay. And to think I asked you last year to teach me and denied me of that opportunity,” Nyx interrupted in protest and rolled his eyes, with Whiskey rubbing her face in his forearm. “Trade secret, _my ass—”_

“Wait, guys—do you hear that?” On Nyx’s left side, Crowe held her hand up and everyone paused to look at her, anticipating on what she was about to say. Instinctively, they immediately straightened up, on their guard, hands on their weapons. Whiskey climbed on Nyx’s shoulders, alert and wary.

Not a second later, Crowe breezily announced, “Sorry, my bad. It was just the sound of Nyx being jealous about a completely _different_ subject. Anyway. Carry on, my friends.” Crowe shot Nyx a smirk so victoriously reeking in mischief that it could have been immortalized on one of the postal stamps of Lucis. A mixture of laughter and relief erupted from all of them, except for Nyx, who could only manage a defeated sigh. Whiskey resumed her nuzzling activity as Nyx cradled her back into his arms.

“Jeez, Crowe—that was… that almost made me warp strike out into the darkness, but that was _good,”_ Libertus praised in between fits of laughter. And in between his fits of laughter, Libertus half-heartedly offered to Nyx, “Sorry, bro.” Naturally, true friends always poked good-hearted fun on each other’s embarrassment, and considering how long their friendship had stood the test of all sorts of trouble imaginable, Libertus did an exemplary job on that department for Nyx.

“Maybe you just didn’t ask Pelna nicely.” Briony told Nyx, a bold assumption he knew she remarked just to rile him up.

Nyx raised an objecting eyebrow. “Brie Cheese, I always ask people nicely.”

“In what alternate universe, Nyx?”

“In an alternate universe where you’re not a constant pain in the ass.”

“Is that also an alternate universe where you’re not painfully annoying?”

“It’s also the alternate universe where the both of you have resolved this painfully annoying sexual tension and have finally decided to live happily ever after.” Both Nyx and Briony fell silent. For the second time around, it was Crowe who delivered the thunderous comeback, which was immediately followed by the thunderous laughter of Libertus, Pelna, and even Maxx, who had been enjoying himself watching the group’s lively banter. Oftentimes, with Pelna or Nyx somewhere in proximity, the Glaives tend to forget that Crowe was just as deadly with her wit as she was deadly with her magic. This should probably explain why she and Briony immediately became the closest of friends. Behind those darling brown eyes and that sweet honeyed smile, Crowe was a lethal connoisseur of sassy remarks, and she always saved her finest concoctions for anyone in her limited inner circle. And by inner circle, she meant Nyx, Libertus, Pelna, and Briony. It was Crowe’s own brand of endearment, and Nyx treasured her for it, even if it meant embarrassing him from time to time.

Alas, with Nyx a tongue-tied, stuttering mess, and Briony a bubbling cherry soda, blushing to high heaven, Crowe took advantage of the situation and brought logic back to the table. “So, going back to the task at hand… Libertus, you have the explosives with you?”

“Yup, all raring to blow up some nasties.” To assure Crowe, Libertus materialized a small black pouch in his hand. Crowe and Libertus exchanged a baleful smile.

Pelna chided, “That better be good than the ones I make.”

Smugly, Libertus folded his arms over his chest and beamed. “Pel, I honour your genius, but any explosive crafted out of molten Vahagn lava will _blow_ your mind.”

“And never doubt any explosive crafted by yours truly,” Maxx seconded. Which was rightfully so. Most people think it was Maxx’s hunting prowess that rewarded him with the nickname _Madd Maxx,_ but Nyx learned from his mother that Maxx possessed a dangerous inclination for destruction that came with the bombs that he made for the Hunters. Nyx had yet to witness the said capacity for destruction, but knowing Maxx, anything’s possible. ”Plus, with a Magitek weapon of that scale, you’ll need all the firepower you could get. Like I always say, I’m fucking extra and I live for the extra.”

The campfire crackled in the brief moment that encouraged everyone in silent acknowledgement. Then, carefully, Briony asked, “I guess... now that we have everything covered, what’s our approach?”

All eyes were back on Nyx, waiting for his call. With all that they needed to know, Nyx didn’t require that much assessment on what their strategy would be. Even though there was a tug of anxiety in his chest that doubted how easy the entire arrangement was, he brushed it off by leaning on to trust the capabilities of his friends. Nyx was aware of what each of their strengths could contribute in the battlefield even at the worst of times, and he sought solace in that knowledge.

And Nyx also sought solace in the raging fire of anger and contempt that burned inside him, the fire that he kept bottled up solely for the Empire.

Confidently, Nyx announced, “Standard search and destroy. Eliminate all MTs on sight, get to that Magitek weapon, and make sure it never sees the light of day.” Nyx paused, and in a heartbeat, he saw the faces of his comrades, eager and dangerous.

With the adrenaline almost pumping out of his skin, Nyx seethed in command, “Let’s bring down these fuckers. For hearth and home.”

Everyone exchanged a menacing, affirmative glance.

“For hearth and home,” echoed the rest of the Glaives.

 

* * *

 

Being inside the fortress itself, dashing from one dreary hallway to another, Nyx immediately realized that the layout and the footage that Pelna presented had been accurate. It may not have captured the incredible immensity of it, but layout-wise, the blueprint was _so_ accurate that Nyx had a moment to be terrified with Pelna’s accuracy. Just like in the blueprint, the long corridors weaved into a perfect square, with rectangular rooms situated in between, a flight of stairs connecting each floor apart from the lift they dismissed to utilize. Except the pixelated corridors were now colossal stretches of metal-and-mortar walls glossed by fluorescent lights, floors plated in steel grids that _clinked_ and _clanked_ with their every hurried step; and the holographic rooms in between were confirmed to be massive dormitories of bunk beds and humongous laboratories filled with multiple screens, computer terminals, and a bonus armoury of weapons.

But what terrified and amazed Nyx the most—apart from the fact that this hideous Imperial facility was larger than he had anticipated—was that even Pelna’s enemy markings had been correct, too.

The moment they warped themselves through an opening that led to the eighth floor of the edifice and galloped onto the next, the Glaives raced towards the end of the long hall in the quest to find the next flight of stairs. Ahead of Nyx was Crowe, paving their way as she torched Imperial riflemen with her torrent of fire and thunder. Behind him were Libertus and Pelna, ruthlessly slicing and hacking a group of Imperial axemen aggressively in pursuit. And beside him was Briony, brutal and ravenous with her katana in hand—together with Nyx, they destroyed pairs of Imperial troopers that emerged from hidden crevices along the metal walls.

As they charged their way through another set of enemies, a series of explosions roared and rumbled from below. Nyx could only surmise that Maxx and Whiskey were having their field day ransacking the Magitek armors that swarmed the entrance.

“I can’t believe that our Messenger buddies get to take the lift,” Libertus jokingly complained as he diced another Imperial trooper with one swift strike from his dual blades.

“We only had to go through _two fucking flights of stairs,_ are you—” Crowe screeched and stopped mid-sentence to incinerate a charging Magitek axeman with a powerful fire spell— “fucking kidding me, Lib?!”

“I’d appreciate if you guys saved the whining once this is all over!” Nyx bellowed, and he propelled his blade on the direction of an Imperial sniper who stood above a metal railing that hung from the ceiling, and as lightning-fast as he came, Nyx drove his blade through the sniper’s non-existent heart.

And how Nyx missed the hypnotic buzz-crack of his blades warping into the speed of light.

Just when they thought they have swept the floor clean of Imperial enemies, out of the corner of Nyx’s eye, he saw a dark miasma forming somewhere below...

And it happened to be right behind an unsuspecting Briony Clark.

Nyx yelled, “Briony, behind you!”

As a horde of goblins rose from the surface, Briony was quick on her feet. In a stance that was frightfully reminiscent of _the_ Cor Leonis, Briony delivered a horizontal slash that cut a wide shockwave, catapulting the daemons at a distance. For good measure, Nyx sent the final blow as he warped and windmilled in the middle of the wretched creatures, slashing and splitting them into gruesome halves, dissolving them into a puddle of murk.

With no imminent danger and all enemies finally wiped out, the Glaives allowed themselves a moment to breathe easy.

“Great work, partner,” commended Nyx, accompanied with a slap on Briony’s back. Which was another historical breakthrough in his relationship with Briony, all things considered. Because not once had he ever openly praised Briony. Not even back in the Kingsglaive training grounds where she kicked his ass. Twice.

“Thanks. Great job, too, hero.” Briony smiled at him that same smile he witnessed back at Glenwood’s meadow, and Nyx could swear that something in his chest tugged like thunder.

Pelna cleared his throat as he deliberately stood in between Nyx and Briony, looping his arms around them. “You guys make me want to officiate your marriage right at this very moment—”

“Shut up.” Nyx and Briony both said at the same time, unlooping themselves from Pelna, marching towards the stairwell leading to the next floor.

The rest of the Glaives followed suit, snickering in amusement.

As they went on to the floor of their destination, destroying another batch of Imperial infantrymen and ravaging flocks of daemons in their path, they finally stumbled upon a looming steel door that stood directly across the elevator.

Libertus exhaled. “This must be it—”

With such impeccable timing yet again, the elevator doors zipped open. The Glaives were back on guard, only to be relieved to find Maxx and Whiskey stepping out of the lift.

“Do you always have to get a grand entrance every fucking time?” Nyx said in equal parts disbelief and amazement.

Maxx’s laughter echoed throughout the hallway. “I didn’t choose the grand entrance, buddy. The grand entrance chose me.”

Without any further delay, Pelna was already working on his magic on the security reader beside the massive door. In less than a minute, Pelna got it to slide open.

“After you, my friends,” he proudly beckoned.

True enough, the layout and the footage really wouldn’t be able to capture the enormity of the sight before them.

The group ventured inside the room soaked in an eerie crimson glow. The vastness of the room and the monstrous size of the cylindrical Magitek weapon that snaked in the middle from floor to ceiling made Nyx feel oddly microscopic. It produced a low, vibrating thrum, a mechanical chant to let its intruders know that it’s alive, breathing, ruinous.

Libertus groaned. “Holy _shit,_ that thing is hideous in person.”

“Let’s see what we can find here before we blow this thing up,” Crowe proposed.

Carefully, Nyx examined other things in the room, as the others did the same. Pelna and Briony, the usual voyagers of curiosity, rushed into the cluster of computer terminals that rested at the foot of the abominable Magitek weapon. Crowe and Libertus wandered around the rows of desks in the middle of the room, finding their own clues. Maxx and Whiskey settled on examining the equally large steel door at the far end leading to the adjacent room.

Aside from the heaps of files scattered around, the flickering monitors perched on all four corners of the walls, and the haphazard piles of lab coats on the floor, something was off...

_Wait—_

“Guys...” Pelna’s voice reverberated all throughout the area, and his tone was ominous. “You gotta see this.”

Nyx and the rest of the crew gathered around Pelna and Briony, who were browsing through the research files. Whiskey hopped on the desk and rested on top of the monitor. Meanwhile, it didn’t escape Nyx’s attention how Briony’s face was already painted with a pallid colour of disbelief.

“We’re already in the process of saving this in the flash drive, but this is worth a read.” Pelna dragged an article on the screen that read:   

> **_Project Emerald Weapon_ **
> 
> _As proposed by Verstael Besithia, following the destruction of the Narshe Magitek Production Facility, backup site will be established in one of the newly acquired territories to accommodate Project Emerald Weapon. This will run concurrently with Project Diamond Weapon housed in the First Magitek Production Facility._
> 
> _Countersigned by: Deputy High Commander Ravus Nox Fleuret_
> 
> _Approved by:  Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt_

“Apparently, there’s another one of this gruesome shit. But that’s not the interesting tidbit.” Pelna scrolled further down to a research log.  

> **_Research Log 3147_ **
> 
> _Power core test successful. Specimens from Lucca are tagged as viable source of energy. Plasmodium dosage to be assessed. Closing off the entire Eastern Galahd in the next coming months for energy upgrade._

Nyx and Libertus looked at each other in mutual boiling rage.

“What the actual _fuck!”_ Libertus seethed, fists clenched. “Don’t tell me they… They’re—”

All of them exchanged an alarming look.

Following a hunch that only haunted him a brief moment ago, Nyx blurted out, “Pelna, could you check any surveillance logs of this room?”

“On it,” Pelna typed in a series of search commands, until he found a library of video recordings. He scrolled at the latest entry and hit play.

_Holy fucking hell._

The video footage showed a group of researchers gradually morphing into a group of goblins.

All of them exchanged another alarming look, now intensified by shock and horror.

“Pelna." Maxx said in a tone that was low and dangerous. “Can you do something to open the door at the back?”

Pelna was wise enough not to question Maxx as he keyed in another set of commands. Everybody watched, and the minutes stretched painfully as Pelna tried different permutations of his code. With everybody already extremely agitated on what’s waiting behind the other side of the door, the minutes droned… until the sound of a faint hiss coming from the door’s direction after a long moment broke their agonizing wait.

And along with that hiss broke a strong, putrid stench of rot and decay that leaked from the room in an instant.

Hurriedly, with Nyx and Maxx and Whiskey darting ahead, the group sauntered to see what they would find…

The three of them stopped in their tracks.

_Niflheim, you sick piece of shit._

Before them was an expanse of a macabre view of what had been a proper research laboratory, veiled in a dim blue light. Rows of thick glass tubes with mutilated bodies were in display. Skulls cracked open, limbs severed, faces deformed. Some have mutated into daemons, their skin and bones oozing with black liquid. Some still wore their clothes, flesh butchered beyond recognition. 

Some have been innocent civilians. Some have been someone else's husband, brother, wife, sister, mother, father, son, daughter.

And most of these men and women and children who were slaughtered in cold blood were undoubtedly Galahdians. 

Libertus and Crowe and Briony were stupefied beyond relief. Pelna tried not to retch. Maxx had a look on his face that bordered between anger and murder.

Nyx gritted his teeth, fists rolled in boiling anger, raging to set everything on fire.

_Niflheim, you sick fucking piece of shit, how dare you, how fucking dare you._

Meanwhile, Maxx marched closer on one of the glass tubes, knuckles bleached white, whispering words in a language that none of them understood. His face wore a diabolical fury, violent and livid.

He stopped at a glass tube with body of a dead boy hanging from it, eyes stricken and ghoulish in decay. Maxx smashed it with his bare fists and the glass shattered, his knuckles sliced with shards. He didn’t seem to mind as he caught the body of the child, gripping the corpse closely to his chest. He was shaking and trembling with an unspeakable grief and sorrow that made the tall and intimidating Maxx so terribly vulnerable. The Glaives only stood to watch, unable to offer any consolation, paralyzed by their own fury and outrage and the Empire’s sickening act of madness.

As Maxx slowly set the body down, he roared, “SHOW YOURSELF, RAMUH!”

Despite his own burning anger, Nyx tried to stop Maxx from going absolutely hysterical. _Madd Maxx_ he was called, sure, but this was… different. Before Nyx could run to his side, Libertus and Crowe quickly held him back when they saw Whiskey was vigilantly standing in between them and a mourning Maxx, as if to warn them _Do not interfere._

Maxx challenged into the void that showed no sign of the Stormsender. “HOW COULD YOU STRIP MY POWERS AWAY FROM ME WHEN I SENT THAT HURRICANE TO DESTROY THAT VILLAGE OF BANDITS AND RAPISTS AND MURDERERS, AND YET YOU ASTRALS… _YOU_ ALLOWED THE WRETCHED HUMANS WHO DID THIS TO WALK FREE WITHOUT PUNISHMENT?! WELL, _FUCK ME AND JUSTICE,_ I AM BUT A FUCKING PRACTICAL JOKE!”

Maxx frothed and seethed with so much fury as he spoke again in a different tongue, until he switched back to words that they all could understand. “Know this! I will never _ever_ apologize for what I did to that village—they deserve that after killing that innocent child and the man I love! But just this once, _please,_ please let me set things right! Restore my powers back, I implore you—”

Before Maxx could even follow the rest of his tirade, a massive bolt of thunder rumbled and a strong gust of wind struck him senseless, emitting a white flash that almost blinded the Glaives.

Shielding their eyes, the Glaives called out for Maxx, staggering as they tried to march forward to check on his safety amidst the blinding light and the violent winds. As the brightness and the shroud of smoke subsided, Nyx saw that Maxx was unharmed and unburnt, yet his Hunter’s garb had been tattered into shreds.

Maxx turned to Nyx, a wild smile etched on his face, his gray eyes vicious like an impending thunderstorm. Maxx curled and uncurled his hands, and flashes of lightning danced at his fingertips.

“So glad to be back on business!” Maxx grinned, manic and almost delirious, and he began to summon torrents upon torrents of thunder. With the help of Whiskey on the other side, Maxx cast a luminous barrier that separated him from his feline friend and the Glaives as he began to scorch and ravage the walls and the ceilings. 

Appalled, Nyx demanded, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

Without turning around, Maxx answered, “Destroying what I should have many years ago!”

As if to arrive at the same ridiculous realization Nyx had in mind, Briony marched her way to Maxx, but Crowe held her back. She begged, “No, please Maxx! Don’t do this! You promised—”

“I know,” Maxx assured, and even for a moment, there was a tinge of sadness in his voice. “You won’t miss me that much, to be sure—“

“Don’t you dare do this, Maxx!” Libertus threatened, but Nyx knew there was no point in persuading him.

Sparks of thunder roared and the winds were getting stronger that the Glaives were struggling to stand on their feet.

“Guys, I did warn you—" Maxx growled, and shockwaves of lightning sparked all over the expanse of the room— "I meant it when I said I was fucking extra!”

Before any of them could even protest, they were enveloped with a thunderous, blinding flash of white. And when Nyx opened his eyes, he was back in the living room of his house, along with the rest of his comrades, grieving, startled, broken.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. I have to admit: it was exhausting having to write this chapter the first time, but it was more exhausting having to edit it because I have to reread some of the scenes and realize the rollercoaster ride that I just hurled myself into. Anyway.
> 
> It is important that I should note, too, that the next coming chapters will be less stressful and more fluff, but consider it as period of calm before another emotional storm. :)


	11. Cor Leonis

“Your Majesty, we have to consider the reality of this situation.” Senate President Lyonel Pax, in his most formal and gracious tone, posture sharpened by astuteness in his black suit, urged King Regis and the rest of the Lucian council. “I understand that the possibility of the missing Eastern Galahd unit may be behind the destruction of the Magitek facility in Galahd—which, of course, we highly owe them our deepest gratitude for saving us from that abominable threat—but seeing as to how that catastrophe punched a crater and almost defaced the Galahdian mountain range, how can we even be certain that anyone survived that explosion?”

At the far end of the long council table, Cor tensed. The small meeting room seemed to have grown larger, the black marbled walls appeared more ominous, and him made even smaller by the roiling of his gut. Each hush and whisper of the ruling council squeezed a deep breath out of his lungs. Beside him, the seat where Titus Drautos was supposed to be was empty. The moment the news of what had happened in Galahd and how the massive destruction wiped out the existence of the Magitek fortress broke like wildfire, the Kingsglaive captain was whisked away by the urgent call of duty, and along with it, the Citadel was roused from its sleep, every soldier and council member hurled into chaos at an ungodly hour.

And the moment he received the call from Clarus, Cor’s first waking thought raced to Briony.

Still, in his perpetually blank face, Cor did not let the clench of nauseating worry show. He was pretty good at hiding things, even from himself.

Or so he thought.

Over at the other side of the table, Cor caught one passing glance from Clarus—and even from King Regis. Unfortunately, there were some things Cor could not hide from the very people who knew him best.

Sitting across from Lyonel was Clarus, pensive and deliberately wise in the black-and-gold raiment. It was him who finally responded: “Lyonel, we can only be certain if we scour the area for any sign of survivors. Civilians might have been in that proximity, too. Drautos has already deployed a number of his Kingsglaive units to aid the Hunters in the recovery efforts to ensure the safety of both Galahdians and—“

“And whatever remains of the missing operative unit? Surely you jest, Clarus.” Lyonel sharply interrupted, his earlier formality and grace replaced by a cold, sardonic smile. Outside the walls of the Citadel, the Lucian courtrooms, and his own personal office, Lyonel Pax could be seen as a reserved yet affable fellow as far as the Lucian aristocrats and local Insomnians were concerned. Respected by nobility and despised by immigrants, Lyonel brandished a public image fueled by his reputation as a terrifyingly brilliant lawmaker, and driven by his influence as the leader of one of the most prominent Lucian noble houses.

And within the confines of these walls, Lyonel brought a legislator’s ruthlessness and a questionable arsenal of moral standards that Cor could never truly understand.

“We have to address more pressing matters at hand,” Lyonel strongly reasoned. “We should keep in mind that this disaster—blessing as it may be—has the utmost possibility of bringing the Empire’s reinforcements straight here in the Crown City. Gods forbid, they could be flying their dreadnaughts to Insomnia as we speak. We have to be prepared—“

“It seems like you have little confidence in the capabilities of our Lucian forces.” Clarus kept his voice as even and diplomatic as he could, and yet it still reeked with a silent yet fearsome austerity. “Should it come to that, the remaining troops of the Kingsglaive shall suffice to defend the city. Drautos has that in order. And in case you’ve forgotten, the Crownsguard—though they are tasked with the protection of the Citadel and the royal family—are more than capable to join the fray.”

Lyonel casually proposed, “That may be, but it would be best to have _all_ of our soldiers here, solely dedicated in the city—”

“You must be absurd!” Clarus’s hands tightened into fists as he seethed, “And then what? Withdraw the rescue efforts and abandon the civilians outside Insomnia? Now Lyonel, you’re the one pulling a cruel jest!”

Lyonel only straightened and leaned forward. “No, Clarus. I’m merely suggesting a practical strategy in this matter. Protecting the Crown City should be the main priority of _both_ the military forces. Moreover, right now, it matters not if we even find the missing Kingsglaive unit—they have already done their job. At this time, the safety of the populace must come first.”

Cor never found himself aligning in Lyonel’s warped set of ideals and principles, much less in his political pursuits, but on some parts of that scathing argument, Cor somehow understood Lyonel’s concern regarding the city’s defense. It made absolute sense to be wary when Niflheim had already breached most of the outer regions of Lucis, sparing only the capital city of Insomnia. Though King Regis had everyone in the Crown City under the protection of the Wall, it was reasonable to heighten the security measures around the city after the incident in Galahd.

And Cor—as Captain of the Crownsguard, always logical and sensible as he was—knew of that underlying responsibility, and he acknowledged and respected that.

But Cor—as adoptive father, strangely awkward yet fiercely protective as he was—found himself wanting to punch Lyonel square in his pale, blonde face. He wanted so badly to permit himself to argue, _There are families out there that need our help, you selfish fucking bastard._ Which fundamentally meant permitting himself to say, _Briony, the only child I considered to be close to family, the girl I raised to call my own might have been there. And her life matters just like everyone else, you heartless cunt_ —

“The people outside Insomnia are still part of _our_ populace, Lyonel—the Kingsglaive included.” The room fell silent. Before Clarus could even throw his rebuttal, it was this time that King Regis finally spoke. With nothing less than a benevolent smile on his face, he had more nothing more than a burning sternness in his voice. “I understand the root of your concern—but native to Insomnia or no, to safeguard the welfare of _all_ people living outside the city walls must and will always stay a priority.”

King Regis spared a Lyonel a stern gaze as he continued, “I am highly aware of the losses that we’ve had over the years, Lyonel—and while it is true that the Imperial forces have invited themselves in our territories, these lands are still _ours,_ and the Kingsglaive are risking their life and limb fighting this… this fickle war. And as far as they are concerned, the least we could do to honour their sacrifices as they continue to fight for our lands—their _homes_ —is to ensure that we, as men and women in a position of power, would do everything in our capacity to provide them the same steadfast support that they require from us.”

Lyonel pursed his lips, his pallid face calculating on whether he should pursue the subject. Instead, he nodded and said, almost in resignation, “Very well. I understand, Your Majesty.”

The discussion steered to an indefinite end, and the council was briefly dismissed as they decided to take a short break while they wait for Drautos to be in attendance. With the last council member exiting the room and squeezing the door shut, the only men left were Cor, Clarus, and King Regis.

As Cor stood and approached the two men, Clarus drew a world-weary sigh.

“I think another cup of coffee should be in order." Clarus’s voice was almost hoarse, his hands rubbing the weariness out of his face. A daunting figure sporting a shaved head, tenacious blue eyes, and the seasoned face of his fifties, Clarus typically exhibited the same ferocity of his youth. However, his current state was barely a scratch on the surface to express his annoyance and exasperation. “I’m far too old to deal with _his_ politics. Lyonel’s a damn cold-hearted bastard to deal with—“

“Now, Clarus—that’s surprisingly hostile coming from you. And it is too early in the morning for that.” King Regis managed a short laugh. Clarus only managed another sigh. Despite being hardened by the tough decisions and many a sacrifice borne under his rule, King Regis’s graying and aging face was still a remarkable epitome of gentleness and grace, and of charm and his very own brand of wit. 

King Regis turned his attention to Cor. He asked, “Any word from Drautos?”

Hands clasped behind his back, Cor straightened as he answered, “None yet, Your Majesty. He had been busy with meeting the Glaives earlier this morning.”

“And what about Briony?” Clarus asked, and both him and King Regis gave Cor a searching look.

Cor only avoided their gaze and shook his head.

The moment of silence that dwelled was heavy with a sickening worry. At this point, with just the bare mention of Briony’s name, Cor was already forcing himself to swallow his growing grief in small doses, struggling to marinate that excruciating possibility of losing her—and by the gods who created Eos, Cor could not bear to entertain even just the mere probability of it—and it felt like trying to digest boulders for sustenance. Cor had already thought of hopping onto the next ferry to Galahd and look for Briony on his own. He had also considered seeking Johanna’s help. He thought of all the options available, and yet, that small possibility remained, a stubborn, troublesome thought he could not dispel.

If anything _did_ happen to Briony... gods be good to him, Cor wouldn’t be able to live with it.

He could never forgive himself.

Before Cor could even descend further the slippery slope of his parental woes, the heavy oaken doors of the meeting room creaked opened.

“Your Majesty,” Drautos hurriedly greeted as he entered. He bowed and marched forth, his footsteps leaden by his red-and-black armour. “News from the Glaive.”

King Regis and Clarus and Cor all exchanged an urgent look.

“At ease,” commanded King Regis. “How is the situation in Galahd?”

“No casualties have been reported, Your Majesty, and all civilians around the vicinity were evacuated as necessary,” Drautos said. It was all pleasing news so far, but it was hard to tell with Drautos given how mechanical and unsmiling he often seemed to be. “Moreover, we have finally managed to contact the Eastern Galahd unit led by Nyx Ulric. He has confirmed the success of their assignment and has sent their initial report regarding their operation. With the reinforcements providing support in Galahd, I’ve already ordered for them to return to the city at once.”

Drautos only swept a firm glance at Cor and nodded, as if to cast some light over the shadow of an uncertainty that hung and lingered all over the room.

It was all the news Cor needed to hear.

 

* * *

 

The minutes that trickled into hours went so painfully slow, that by the time the series of meetings and conferences were over, Cor was exhausted. It had been an extremely long and taxing day; still, a part of him was already relieved to learn the news of the Glaive’s success.

Finally, he could breathe easy...

Well, there was still that tiny voice of worry. As usual. Cor had tried to contact Briony in between their meager coffee breaks, and she had not responded to any of his past messages, nor did she return any of his calls. Sometimes, it upset him how Briony had terrible texting habits. Which, of course, Cor could not exactly reprimand her for it when he, too, was guilty of the said crime. But now, he just needed to hear Briony’s voice, just to be _really,_   _absolutely_ certain that he did not jinx the news of her coming home.

It had been past midnight when Cor got back to his apartment. An orderly arrangement of gray walls, wooden floors, white sheets, and a handful of furniture, his humble space was as neutral and organized as it was going to get, and it perfectly matched his current mood: lonely and somber. He kicked his boots off, took a bottle of beer from his well-stocked fridge, sank on his couch, and drank away his worries, hoping to find some comfort at the bottom of his beer bottle.

Instead, Cor only found other simple things to complicate for his weary mind to mull over.

He thought of Candela, and he began to imagine her fury if she ever knew what he had allowed Briony to venture herself into. He also thought of Johanna, and the remaining questions that still begged to be answered. And he thought of Briony again— _sweet darling Briony,_ Candela had always endearingly called her—and he began to wonder what her reaction would be if she learned the truth about Johanna whom she adored so earnestly…

_Sworn to serve the Bladekeeper, huh._

To be fair, Cor had always acknowledged the existence of divine beings. He may not be in active pursuit to fully understand the how’s or why’s of it, but he acknowledged it all the same. Cor had been around long enough to understand that there are just some things in this world that did not need to make sense for it to actually make sense.

But more than Cor cared to admit, finding out that a Messenger of Bahamut had been coexisting with them right under their noses felt a little disconcerting. And finding out that a Messenger of Bahamut was none other than Johanna Valens felt more or less terrifying.

Still, Johanna was gracious enough—which was an astonishing feat, because a gracious Johanna was personally a rare experience in the thirty years that Cor had been in service in the Citadel—and she addressed Cor’s every burning question with an equally fervent and honest answer with the little time he had before he was summoned by Clarus for an urgent Crownsguard meeting. In the period of their short discussion, Johanna explained that no, she could not see the future, she could only look into present images and replay past memories of anything and everything that existed all over Eos. Being a gifted skeptic right to the bone, Cor had the audacity to challenge Johanna _again_ to prove her claims, only to be met by a sharp quirk of her brow and a blazing montage of his street brawl perpetuated by his unknown armoured assailant a few days past, the very same that invoked Briony’s wrath before she left for Galahd.

That, and a fiery migraine, was enough to secure Cor’s hard-earned confidence.

Johanna admitted too, that yes, King Regis was aware of her true nature—an unsurprising revelation, Cor realized, as the royal line of Lucis had been privy to their own fair share of secrets from time immemorial—as she had been ordained by Bahamut to guide and look after the kings of Lucis.

And with Noctis a sole exception and an entirely different story, Johanna chose to save that subject for another time...

As Cor hauled himself up to grab another bottle, there was a knock on his door. Strangely unsure, he glanced at the digital clock that hung on his fridge. It blinked one-twenty a.m., and Cor was fairly certain he did not expect any guests this late in the evening. Besides, he was already used to random drunk strangers playing stupid pranks, which was common around his part of the neighbourhood.

So instead of opening the door, he waited for another knock. And then—

“Cor?”

It was a voice he would recognize almost anywhere in a goddamn heartbeat.

He unlocked his door and right outside his doorstep was Briony, still in her Kingsglaive fatigues, face caked in dirt with a sling over her right arm.

“Hi.” Briony forced a smile, and yet something in her voice threatened to crack.

“Hey.” half-reeling and half-relieved, Cor carefully held Briony by the shoulders. With a warm smile on Cor's face, he said, “Finally, welcome home—”

As soon as he said it, Briony’s face crumpled into tears.

It took half a second for Cor to realize what was happening, but as soon as he did, Cor wrapped Briony in a tight embrace. Here, in his arms, the daughter he raised was home from the war. Here, in his arms, the daughter he knew was never the same. He let her cry until she could no longer cry, until her eyes got swollen and tired, and each hitch and hiccup of her breath were violent waves of grief that stabbed Cor right through his chest.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this is not a direct continuation of events from the previous chapter, I feel this was necessary because I just had to write a worried Dad!Cor, okay. Just. Please.
> 
> Also, to each and everyone of you who have been patiently following this story - I thank you from the bottom of my trash heart. Seriously. Like, I never really expected for this thing to get any response at all and yet some of you guys have been really nice?? So yeah. In case you need to scream at me over this thing or anything ffxv, please know that my [Tumblr](https://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com) is open for all your screaming needs.


	12. Briony Clark

In her dreams, Briony returned to Tenebrae once more.

She was back in the same vast field of sylleblossoms, the same bleak sky, the same lonely abyss of blue and gray. The only difference was that underneath the old oak tree that stood amidst this infinite sea of flowers was Pryna playing with a young girl in a vibrant green dress.

Briony approached them in slow, careful steps. The girl had charcoal black hair, a bouquet of gorgeous curls and spirals that blossomed wildly on her head, impeccably complementing her chocolate skin. Her laughter bubbled and echoed as she scratched Pryna behind the ear, with the celestial canine only positively pleased with her playmate.

When Briony stopped a few feet away from them, the young girl stood and turned to face her. Up close, she was a few feet shorter than Briony and looked a few years younger, probably even younger than Iris. But young as the girl appeared to be, she possessed a pair of sharp eyes, a familiar shade of green, fearsome and brave.

But what struck Briony was the white blemishes that mapped the side of the girl’s right cheek, another on her left eye, and another right across her mouth, tracing like islands all over her eerily beautiful face.

The girl studied Briony under a curious gaze. She pursed her lips into a shy smile and asked, “Does your arm still hurt?”

Briony looked down on her sling-supported right arm, a minor injury she had earned when they were fending off daemons en route back to Insomnia. She curled and uncurled her fingers, testing the pain.

Even in a dream, the sting was still there.

Briony nodded in response to the question.

“Well, that shouldn’t be...” The girl tilted her head, severely concerned. Even Pryna’s ears perked up. “I had that treated back on the ferry boat bound for Insomnia.”

“I… I’m sorry, do I… know you? From somewhere?” Briony asked. If she were to trust her memory, Briony was absolutely sure she had not seen this girl before. She only injured her arm, not her head.

“Oh, I must apologize for forgetting my manners,” the girl suddenly offered. “I realized this is not the appearance I introduced myself with you in the real world.”

Briony narrowed her eyes at the girl. She didn’t know whether to feel suspicious or wary or—

_Wait, is she…_

The realization finally revealed itself in a heartbeat.

“Whiskey?”

The girl cracked a grin. “I must be honest, Nyx’s name for me isn’t quite appropriate for someone who appears to be forever underaged.” For her human form, Whiskey sure was still cheeky. Then, she added, “Either way, you can call me Hestia—”

Briony rushed forward to hug her. Whiskey—or Hestia—hugged her back, and she felt so warm and light around Briony's arms, like a tiny furnace of sunlight and comfort. This was a dream, yet this moment felt so real _and_ surreal all at once.

Under her breath, Briony whispered, “I’m so sorry… about Maxx—”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Briony.” Hestia’s voice was small and childlike, but it echoed timelessness, a maturity that recognized no age. Hestia pulled away and took Briony’s hands in hers. “Maxx… had to do what he had to do. He had already intended in the beginning to teleport you all to safety should things get worse. Which did.”

Briony knelt and gently held Hestia by her shoulders. Questions began spilling from her mouth. “Is this your real form? How is this possible when your cat form is with Nyx? Does his apartment stink? Tell me so I can let you stay with me. Will I remember any of this when I wake up? My mother told me in a dream about finding someone named Hestia… ”

“Yes, this is my real form.” Hestia giggled. “And I don’t mean to be cryptic, but your questions beckon for conversations too complicated to be had in a dream, Briony.”

Briony sighed. “But why?”

“Because dreams are funny little things.” Hestia smiled, her cat-like eyes too wise beyond her young appearance. “Besides, I only wanted to see you… to see whether you are doing well. And to assure you in this little time that we have that I do intend to speak with you again and answer all that you want to know in the flesh, once I finally recover my powers—“

A violent wind rustled, and the leaves whispered and bristled. Somewhere in the distance, a distinct chant from a chorus of voices echoed words that were all too familiar...

_A forgotten flower shall blossom in the desert._

The sylleblossom field began to wilt and hills of corpses surfaced in its place. Blood and flesh covered the land, and one by one, Briony recognized faces she knew, dead and flesh rotting in purple. There was Crowe and Pelna and Nyx and Noctis and Cor and Gladio...

_Ushering a sweet song to an empire’s downfall._

Mortified, Briony shivered in a state of panic, forgetting that Hestia was still there with her. But Hestia gripped her hand as firmly as she could.

“Briony, focus on me,” Hestia urged, trying to win back Briony’s attention. “I’m real, but _this…_ whatever your mind is conjuring right now is _not real._ I need you to wake up. Wake up, Briony. Wake up…”

 

* * *

 

Her eyes flashed open.

Cor was sitting on the coffee table right across from Briony when she woke up on his couch, breathless, covered in her own sweat, and miraculously fully recovered.

“Hey,” Cor, even with a simple _hey,_ could not hide the worry that passed his normally stern blue eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Briony held her right forearm that was still carefully wrapped in a sling. The swell was no long there. Not even a tiny sting.

“I’m… fine,” she answered.

“Ronnie.”

“I mean it. I guess.” Briony huffed. Slowly, she readjusted herself from the couch and sat cross-legged. She took off her arm sling and demonstrated what she meant by _fine._ “I mean, my arm. It’s… now okay. But the rest of me still feels like shit, so there’s that.”

Cor did not even bother to question how she managed to recover from her physical injury in such short time. He got up and went to his kitchen. He returned with a bottle of water and handed it to Briony.

“Your place looks like a hospital married a library,” Briony commented. With only a simple bed, a leather couch, and a wooden desk to cover the space where Briony’s bed used to be, the white walls were devoid of any decoration, except for shelves lined with books. “It feels like moving out of here drained the colour out of this place.”

“Well, I still have a number of photos.” Cor pointed at the corner table beside his couch.

Briony smiled. “Remind me to do this place a favour one of these days.” 

Cor shook his head, partly amazed with Briony’s exceptional display of resiliency, which came in the form of changing the subject matter all too soon. “Anyway, Drautos called. Said that you and your team should get the week off to recuperate.” Then hesitantly, Cor asked, “While you’re here… do you want to talk about it?”

There was a long, heavy pause. Briony looked at Cor and held his gaze.

She nodded.

In the hours that followed, Briony spent recounting the tale of her journey to Galahd. The Magitek facility, the experiments, the Messengers… everything. It was difficult remembering every single detail, but she wanted to say it aloud for her to know that all of those things truly happened.

That all of it was real.

“It’s… just like what you’ve seen back in Narshe, wasn’t it?” Briony asked, remembering all too well Cor’s assignment to Tenebrae where their paths first crossed.

Cor ruefully nodded. “And twelve years later, I can still see their faces.” He looked at Briony in wordless agony. “I should’ve known that this was bound to get worse…”

Briony brazenly offered, “Then let’s put an end to it.”

Cor responded with silence. He regarded Briony, and there was a sad look in his eyes that felt so out of place from his war-hardened face.

“I never wanted any of this for you,” he finally said.

“I know.” Briony sighed. “But I had to, Cor. I just—“

“Your mother would have killed me if she knew.”

“She wouldn’t.” A small smile curled on Briony’s face. “She loves you too much to take away your life. She’ll probably just argue with you so hard until you guys have make-up sex—“

_“Briony.”_

She snickered, thoroughly amused that Cor was suddenly flushed. “What? After running into the both of you _twice—_ gods be good, I promised that I will never ever let you live it down.”

Cor laughed. “I guess there’s nothing much I need to worry about when you’re okay and back to your snarky self.” He paused, and then he added, as if for good measure: "But you're gonna be okay, right?"

“Yeah, of course.” Briony nodded earnestly. “This is how I get okay. Being okay is what I do best.”

 

* * *

 

Well, maybe being okay was what Briony did best, yes—but suffering alone until she was really okay was what she always did better than anyone else.

In the first three days of her rewarded break, Briony had wisely spent it within the four walls of Apartment 401, baked in silence and in simple routines: eat, sleep, snack on leftovers, read a little, try to sleep again, scream until the nightmares subside, stay awake until dawn, repeat.

She actively ignored her phone and its growing number of missed calls and unread messages. She embraced isolation with open arms, and isolation clung to her like a possessive god and offered her nothing but the company of nightmares.

 

* * *

 

_A forgotten flower shall blossom in the desert, ushering a sweet song to an empire’s downfall._

_Get the fuck out of my head._

_For fuck's sake._

* * *

 

_Fuck this. I’m fine. I'm really fine._

 

* * *

  

And on the fourth day, Briony rose again.

Apartment 401 was the same hive of a mess that Briony had left it when she embarked on her assignment to Galahd, and still remained the same ever since she had arrived. Which was not a surprise, considering how she made a beeline to her bed and went straight to hibernation after visiting Cor.

Now that Briony took some time to look around, the only thing that stood out was how her then-bloodied couch had already been cleaned. Moreover, pinned on her fridge was a bright pink Moogle-printed post-it with a note written in such a fine handwritten script it could have been a font face, providing the answer as to who took care of the couch cleaning business:

_Sorry about the mess. - Cor_

Apart from that, the rest seemed frozen in time: the shelves were still empty, the towers of books were still strewn all over the floor, and the stacks of unpacked boxes were untouched as it diligently collected dust and dirt.

Before Briony took on the heavy chores, she decided to first spend the morning reviewing all her voice mails and unread messages. When she saw that most were from Cid and Cindy, she immediately connected with them via video call. Cid was very much relieved to finally see her face and hear from her after such a long time, and even in a virtual call, he did not pass on the opportunity to severely reprimand Briony for making them sick with worry. Cid even added how Cor was beside himself that he made frequent trips to Hammerhead just to drink with him. Briony could only apologize profusely and tried her best not to cry. Cindy was kind enough to let her off the hook, and only made her promise to visit Hammerhead should she ever found the time.

Most of the text messages, however, were mainly from Noctis and Prompto, all random threads asking her to come home soon, accompanied with their silly photos. Noctis mostly sent snapshot of cats. Prompto had his memes. On the other hand, Ignis sent the more formal ones that always ended with either _Do be careful_ or _Do take care_. Briony replied to each of them with her typical gifsets coming from her favourite sitcom that said _Huzzah, I’m home._

And then there’s a week’s worth of message threads that came from Gladio.

_I miss him. So very much._

The last time they spoke was right before she left, and Gladio was dealing with his own personal issues and the pressure of his responsibilities that Briony could not think of the appropriate text to send him now, not when she was unsure of… how to start the conversation. Not when she realized how his personal relationship with Amara might have suffered because of her. She did not want to bother him, least of all become his burden to carry.

Which was an awfully stupid feeling because Gladio was _her best friend._

And because he was her best friend, she should never feel guilty about wanting so badly to see him in person and hug the shit out of him...

But alas, Briony—professional procrastinator of text messages and certified anxious disaster—placed replying to Gladio in an indefinite hold and saved it for last.

She chose to clean her apartment instead.

By afternoon, Briony had managed to sort all her clothes, shelved all of her books alphabetically by genre, decorated her living room wall with her polaroid prints, and made a quick trip across the street to buy some groceries—a significant milestone after being cooped up in her room for three days straight. It was a productive day, Briony reflected, and she felt that she deserved to award herself with a pint of chocolate ice cream and a good read from her reading list.

Until a knock—which more or less sounded like someone wanting to destroy her front door—startled her out of her wits, ruining that self-indulgent awarding ceremony she had for herself.

Briony hurried to the door with a katana in hand.

She opened the door, and there stood consuming the whole space of her door frame was Gladio, tall and furious in his black tank top and jeans.

His face twisted in a scowl. “Would it really hurt for you to text back, huh, _Briony Angela Clark?”_

The last time Gladio addressed Briony in her complete name—her considerably embarrassing middle name included—was a particular time she made Gladio really upset when she did a really stupid (and quite possibly drunk) prank that involved his favourite shoes and chocobo poop. Right before a very special date.

This might be the most intense full-name call out yet.

Briony only stared at him. A cheeky quip was lost at the tip of her tongue. Gladio cautiously studied her from head to foot, which felt like a quick glance for Briony, because _really—_ there was nothing much to study or examine with her being a plain, five-foot-flat human as she reckoned.

He asked, voice low and worried: “Why are you carrying your sword—“

Like being shocked to her system, Briony found her words and began, “I’m really sorry, Gladio—“

“I fucking missed you, you know that?” Gladio wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug that she dropped her sword. Silently, she thanked Whiskey for healing her injury, else this embrace would have been painful.

And she did not want it to be painful because she missed Gladio’s fiery bear hugs all too much.

“I really missed you, too,” Briony mumbled as she burrowed her face in Gladio’s chest. On most days, Briony had her shit together, but if her feelings had any decency at all, and if she had more self-control, she would have stopped the tears from spilling right then and there. She swallowed a sob and said, “I’m _so_ sorry, I know I should’ve texted sooner, it’s just that I feel like I’ll bother you—“

“Hey, Ronnie.” Gladio gently cupped Briony’s face and planted a kiss on her forehead. “You will never be a bother to me, alright? You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Gladio lounged on Briony’s couch, while she rested against his chest, talking for hours on end. Briony told Gladio the same thing she had with Cor, not leaving any detail behind. It still pained her to talk about Maxx, her recurring nightmares, and everything that she had seen… but Gladio only listened patiently and intently. Eventually, Gladio colonized her tiny kitchen and prepared a decent bacon slab and scrambled eggs for the both of them, a far cry from people’s usual impression of him that he was incapable of cooking anything aside from instant noodles. Briony made him his favourite cup of coffee. Gladio explored the photos that hung on the wall. They watched reruns of _Friends_ and random animal videos on Youtube. She let him browse through her books. He let her take a nap on his shoulder. They talked and laughed over bottles of beer and a bag of honey butter chips. Hours and hours went by, and as the golden lustre of the dying day polished Apartment 401 in a glitter of dust and rays of light, Gladio and Briony soaked themselves with each other, as if recovering all of their lost time.

A little more into the evening, Gladio received a call from Iris. The conversation was quick, but with Briony making a headrest out of Gladio, she could not help but overhear Iris’s voice and snatches of their dialogue that went on with something about a charity gala, a promised date, and a very feisty _youbetterhurryorIwilltelldad._

“And that’s my cue to get going.” Gladio rose from the couch. “By the way, Iris wants to see you tomorrow.”

Briony quirked an eyebrow. “Really? What for?”

“Well… I’ll let her do all the explaining. Wouldn’t want to steal her thunder.”

Briony nodded. “Okay. I have nothing planned tomorrow so yeah. Sure.”

On his way out the door, Gladio stopped and shot Briony a look of concern. “Hey… you sure you gonna be okay—“

Briony scoffed. “You’re the second person to tell me that, Gladio. Yes. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m assuming the first one was Cor.”

“No, it was my fictional boyfriend— _of course_ it was Cor.”

Gladio laughed. “Alright. If you need me to sleep over or you need anything, give me a holler, okay? And trust me I’ll come runnin’ down here.”

Briony smiled. “Okay. Sure.”

 

 

Later that night, Briony still had trouble sleeping. As an act of desperation, she tried again to make a mental list of all the things she felt compelled to figure out, to deconstruct each baffling discovery from their operation into nuggets of information she could live with. And it was almost silly how Briony was forcing herself to overthink and overanalyze—two of her most underrated skills that came to her as naturally as breathing, if she was being honest—only to produce a poor list that looked a lot like this:

  1. __!!!!!!!!!__
  2. _Fuck the Empire_
  3. _Repeatedly in its barbaric ass_
  4. _What the fuck are we doing_
  5. _What the fuck am I doing_
  6. _For fuck’s sake Maxx why did you have to do it why did you have to do it_



Briony could barely close her eyes without remembering Maxx, blonde and viciously funny and heartbreakingly selfless, and how in the light of the campfire that night, he happily shared the books that must never go unread and the music that must never remain unheard. How he promised to tell her all the secrets of the stars and the universe once their mission was over. How from that day forth they quickly transitioned from acquaintances to friends-you-couldn’t-live-without. And how he promised to be Briony’s “majorly cool and hipster” Messenger best friend who she could trust with her life if she ever ran out of tampons. Or condoms. Or both.

In the darkness kissed by the bubblegum glow of the silly Moogle lamp sitting on her bedside table, she tried to count the possibilities of Maxx actually surviving, trying to gorge on her foolish hope and swallowing her grief whole. Instead, she probably got high with her mourning and ended up counting butchered bodies that swung from her ceiling that looked so much like the one in the facility...

_I’m fine._

Briony could barely open her eyes without seeing the rotting faces of the dead, torn and ragged lips, eyes crusted with blood, chopped flesh and splintered bones and spilled guts painting that sordid Magitek fortress a ghastly red. The horrors of what they had seen in Galahd had buried itself and made a graveyard out of her mind, the comfort of her own bed was now an open casket, welcoming all her ghosts to lay themselves to rest.

_I’m really fine. This is absolutely fine._

Each inhale was a torment, each exhale was a cry for help Briony could not permit herself to take. She felt like bursting into tears again, but the tears refused to come out. Briony tossed and turned, the palpable anguish splitting her heart open, scratching the walls of her head, as if the dead did not want to rest, as if the dead demanded to be remembered, and that their only consolation was to live in her nightmares.

_I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine._

A heavy sigh and a blink of an eye, Briony heaved herself to sit, searching for her phone underneath her piles of pillows. Her lock screen beamed the time. It was only nine-thirty p.m., yet she felt like she had spent hours upon hours trying to get herself to sleep.

At this point, Briony could not help but consider Gladio’s offer. But she thought about how he might be spending quality time with his sister right now…

_Ah, fuck it._

Just as she was about to shoot Gladio a desperate text that said _I THINK I’M GOING BANANAS PLS COME OVER AT THE SOONEST AND BRING BEER AND PIZZA BYE,_ her phone buzzed.

It was Crowe calling, and her name with a photo of her that showcased one heck of a charming crooked grin flashed on Briony’s screen. Faithful to her nature of being perpetually anxious to answer phone calls of any kind, Briony picked up after five solid vibrating seconds.

 _“Ronnie?”_ Crowe’s voice struggled against the background noise of people jeering and screaming. _“Where are you?”_

“Um, I’m at home?” For someone who was really and truthfully at home, Briony sounded unsure. “Why—“

 _“Shut the FUCK UP, TREDD—”_ Crowe roared back, and then resumed to her much pleasant tone that brimmed with excitement— _“Anyway! You should join us! We’re here at Yamachang’s with the rest of the crew. Libertus’s paying for drinks and dinner!”_

There was a strangled protest that sounded like _Hey, that’s not what we talked about!_ that overlapped with Crowe’s voice.

Briony got out of bed and paced around her room to ponder on the sudden invitation that smelled a lot like trouble. The Glaive was notorious for their hardcore drinking games that birthed many a drunken bar fights, and with Briony’s poor tolerance for both trouble _and_ alcohol, she had only been on a few night-outs—granted that either Crowe or Libertus came along to accompany her socially awkward ass. (But after that shameful turn of events that earned her the nickname Brie Cheese from Nyx, Briony had sworn never to drink ever again.)

And as far as Briony’s knowledge of Libertus was concerned, she knew he was too frugal to spare anyone a free bottle of beer. She couldn’t help but feel skeptical.

Besides, Briony was not exactly in the mood to drink and socialize. But if she thought about it…

Going out was a far better option than being stuck in this lonely party with her personal demons.

Still partially unconvinced that going out was a sensible idea, Briony sheepishly started, “Crowe, I don’t think I—“

 _“Wait, shit—your arm… how’re you feeling? Like, physically. Nyx said Whiskey did some mumbo jumbo on us so I hope you’re already okay?”_ Crowe’s excitement dissolved into a worried tone. Briony could still hear boisterous laughter and a familiar jazz music aching on the other line. Did Yamachang ever play music in his restaurant? Briony could not exactly recall Yamachang’s repertoire of pop songs, but it was a peculiar thing hearing a mellow tune coming from his little shack.

“Um, well…” Holding the phone close to her ear, Briony carefully flexed her right arm and rolled her shoulder to make sure that her miraculous recovery was not an illusion. And it definitely was not an illusion. And her dream about Hestia—or Whiskey—did occur, and as much as she wanted to still use the injury card as an excuse, she really didn’t have the heart to lie to Crowe. Hesitantly, she admitted, “I’m… fine. And it doesn’t hurt anymore, so—“

 _“Then there shouldn’t be a problem at all! Please please pretty please come down here! Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone make you drink tonight—I promise.”_ Crowe offered Briony a confident assurance, as if she had the telepathic prowess to read Briony’s mind and rid her of her worries. Which, in Crowe’s case, was commonly true. Crowe was aware of Briony’s curious inability to hold her liquor, so she even added as a proper addendum: _“This will not be the night for Seven-Drink Ronnie to rise out of vodka hell. C’mon, the grilled skewers and the curry rice bowls are waiting for you!”_

“But I—“

 _“No, no, no. Ronnie! No buts!”_ Crowe was adamant and obviously not taking a breath of excuse. _“We need this. I know you’re used to dealing with your troubles on your own, but I just want you to know that it’s okay to ask for help. With what happened in Galahd… trust me—you don’t have to go through this alone. You have us, okay? I mean it.”_ There was a pause. Another rowdy commotion hummed on the line. With Crowe being highly intuitive and Briony being highly susceptible to feeling a lot of things all at once, it was times like these that Briony was grateful for Crowe’s brutally honest friendship.

_“Hey, Ronnie? You still there? Gods forbid, if you don’t show up, I’ll have to ask Pelna to trace the location of your apartment, ‘cause honey I will drag your ass out of there—“_

“Alright, fine!” Briony finally relented, suddenly afraid of the prospect of her Glaive companions showing up at her doorstep at any given time of day. At the other end of the line, there was a long chorus of _Ayyyy!_ cheerfully crooning in the background.

 _I guess it’s better than being alone here tonight,_ Briony wearily thought. She told Crowe, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes… I hope.”

_“That’s our girl. See you, Ronnie boo!”_

Crowe hung up.

Quickly, Briony got dressed in her overused black Arctic Monkeys band shirt, tight-fitting faded jeans, and a pair of dirty white sneakers. She only grabbed her phone, wallet, and house keys, and bolted out the door and into the starless night.

From the pristine rows of cherry trees, bricked buildings clothed in moss and vine, and the rich earthly scent of the quaint neighbourhood in South Downtown Insomnia, the ten-minute train ride and the five-minute walk to the district where Yamachang’s restaurant was felt like a disorienting teleportation spell to a different universe. Briony rarely wandered around these parts of the city, but the West Underground District stealthily hid itself within the shadows of the soaring skyscrapers, away from the bustling high-end metropolis. Here, rooted in its metal-grated streets, was an urban jungle of cobwebbed electrical lines, hazy neon lights, and a myriad of food stalls and thrift shops that soaked in the aroma of miso ramen and seared salmon and garula skewers.

By the time Briony arrived at Yamachang’s, she felt like she had already inhaled a full-course meal. She saw Yamachang himself behind his kitchen counter in his usual green Li’l Malbuddy shirt, arguing with a familiar figure in a black leather jacket, plain white shirt, and dark jeans.

It was Nyx.

_Why, of course. Just my luck._

He was not exactly the first person Briony had wanted to see tonight. If she didn’t have the energy to socialize, she didn’t have the energy to put up with Nyx and get into their petty fights, either. Wherever Nyx went, trouble always followed. But she could not deny that Nyx surprisingly looked so dashing and a hundred times handsome in his casual clothes...

Briony hurriedly yanked that particular troublesome thought out of her head.

“Like I said, they haven’t been here tonight! I would love to throw a welcoming party for you idiots but I haven’t even seen Libertus or Pelna since you guys came back!” Yamachang sneered, raising three sticks of skewered meat to somehow drive his point. Hands on his waist, Nyx threw his head back in frustration. When Yamachang saw Briony walking towards them, the scowl on his stubble-crusted face turned upside down into a sunny smile. Completely ignoring Nyx, he greeted, “Oh hey there, pretty Ronnie! Welcome back! It’s a pleasure to see you around these parts.”

Startled, Nyx whipped his head to face Briony. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean _what am I doing here?”_ Briony snarled. “Crowe invited me to come over, that’s what. Told me you guys will be here ‘cause Libertus is treating everyone or something like that…” Trailing off, Briony scanned the patrons sitting all around Yamachang’s humble restaurant.

Crowe and Libertus and Pelna were nowhere to be found.

Completely lost and puzzled, she asked, “So where’s everyone? What’s going on—“

Briony turned to Yamachang and only gave them a shrug as he resumed his grilling duties. Then she turned to Nyx, whose face had morphed from frustration into a heavy groan of disbelief.

“Those _idiots,”_ Nyx muttered under his breath. “Wait a sec,” he told Briony as he quickly scooped his phone out of his jacket and furiously dialed in someone’s number. Nyx put the phone on speaker so Briony heard the other line ringing. And then a beep.

 _“Hi!”_ The voice was Crowe’s. _“Okay, before you guys lash out, I can explain. Is Ronnie there?”_

Eyebrows knitted in confusion, Briony drew closer to Nyx and spoke. “Crowe… where are you? I thought—“

 _“I’m really, truly, and madly sorry Ronnie!”_ There was a lot of barking laughter in the background. _“Setting you up with Nyx was totally Pelna’s idea—“_

Briony harshly snatched Nyx’s phone. She screeched, “I beg your fucking pardon— _what?”_

Crowe sighed. _“Ronnie, don’t get me wrong—I meant every word I said earlier. You have us—“_

“I fucking got out of bed for _this_ and I have never felt so _betrayed,_ Crowe.” Briony had said it in scalding admonishment, but all because she was miffed at herself for falling right into their trap. Having known Crowe and Libertus, this kind of tomfoolery was right up their alley, fueled by Pelna’s established mantra, which was _Friends that prank each other, stay together—_ one that they promised to be immortalized soon in a gaudy t-shirt.

_What a twisted turn of events this has been, universe. Thanks a fuckton._

But in all honesty, scalding admonishment aside, Briony could not really be mad at them for their mischief—not when she loved them for it. Usually.

With now being the greatest exception, because being set up with Nyx felt like a terrible punishment and she would rather choose Yura who gave her that horrible bouquet of brie cheese than this narcissistic, self-absorbed, obnoxiously handsome motherfucker—

 _“Please don’t be mad at me, Ronnie. I’ll make it up to you!”_ Crowe tried to appease her. _“I promise you two weeks worth of lunch and a hefty discount coupon at Tsutaya—“_

“My forgiveness cannot be so easily bought like that,” Briony replied quickly and sternly, but she had to admit: that was a pretty damn good bargain. It was difficult to be mad at Crowe when she was the kind of friend who paid attention to the littlest of things and used that knowledge at the expense of wooing the people she loved, even if it meant using that same knowledge for pranking purposes from time to time. Still, Briony aired out her remaining annoyance and added, “I love you guys, truly, but this is just— _ugh,_ I can’t fucking believe you guys would even _—"_

Crowe laughed. _“Aww, Ronnie—I know you love us more than you love your bed, that’s why you’re there! So you kids enjoy the rest of the night bye pleaseforgivemeIloveyousomuchmwah!”_

The call had ended before Briony could even argue. She returned the phone to Nyx, who looked so apologetic and embarrassed it was almost unreal, as if he had committed a crime that the judicial system would never pardon in this lifetime.

He shook his head and rambled an explanation: “Look, I know you hate me but I _swear_ , I had no idea and I’m _so_ sorry—I _honestly_ didn’t know they were planning this kind of bullshit—“

“It’s fine, Nyx. I’ll just… head back home.” Briony shrugged and smiled. “Um, have a good night.”

Briony exchanged casual goodbyes and left Nyx alone with Yamachang. She walked back to the greasy streets, weaving her way through the throng of people and food carts littered all over the sidewalks. The air was alive with restless chatter and acrid smoke, and yet Briony felt at ease. Mostly, she was pleased with herself. To somehow spend an unplanned night outside, Briony realized relishing the humdrum of the city streets after three days in isolation was not such an awful idea.

Just as she was halfway near the subway station, she heard Nyx calling out to her.

“Brie Cheese, wait—“

Briony stopped and turned around. Nyx was heaving like he had just finished running a marathon. As pleasantly as she could, she asked, “How can I help you, hero?”

Nyx straightened up. “Look, since you’re already out here…” He ran his hands through his hair, his face still blushing pink from his impromptu evening run. Or was it? Briony could not seem to tell with all these multi-colored hues from the variety of LED billboards glazing the streets. Nyx pursed his lips, considering her for a second. And another. Briony crossed her arms and raised a brow, curious and patiently waiting. And then, finally, he continued, “So, um, hi. Well, there’s this band playing at the Royal Museum of Lucis tonight. Maxx loves—Maxx _loved_ their music, so…”

Nyx trailed off, followed by a doleful pause. Having to talk about Maxx in the past tense felt like a punch in the gut. If Briony still grieved at the mention of Maxx’s name, she could not fathom the pain Nyx was going through with just the brief thought of his old friend.

“He once told me that if ever his luck finally ran out and he died in the battlefield, he wanted us to find this band so they could play at his funeral.” Nyx let out a small, despondent laugh. Even so, the palpable grief was carefully tucked in between his words. “Said he wanted to go out with a concert, just so everyone could still have a good time.”

“Sounds like something Maxx would say,” Briony wistfully agreed. It was anecdotes like these that made it so difficult to believe that Maxx was some divine being of the Astrals. Because being around Maxx, even for such a short period of time, Briony felt like he was so human, just like the rest of them.

Which also made it painfully difficult to believe that he was already gone. Like he left a massive vacuum in his wake, the kind that made Maxx’s contagious energy a living and breathing memory.

“Yeah… and um, so—“ Nyx reached for the back of his neck, as if struggling with the courage to spit the next words out. He pursued it, and said, “So I haven’t been to one of their gigs, and I kinda want to check them out. And if you’re not busy tonight—“

“Yes, count me in.” Briony replied in a heartbeat. Nyx must have been expecting Briony to say something else, because the surprised look on his face clearly said he did not see _that_ coming.

“Nice. Cool cool cool,” Nyx nodded, mildly abashed yet undeniably pleased. With a sweeping gesture of his hand, Nyx offered, “Shall we, partner?”

Briony rolled her eyes and said, “You lead the way, hero.”

 

 

A few minutes in, and Briony was starting to think that coming along with Nyx was a mistake.

 _This is better than being holed up and alone in my apartment. Repeat to self raised to the power of infinity._ Briony tried to convince herself as Nyx quietly led her along the maze of busy streets and a series of short train rides. All throughout their commute, they both shared a silence that was neither comfortable nor unbearable. It was burdened with a nebulous desire for attention, desperately begging for a conversation that held all the words in their vocabulary hostage, and all they managed to exchange was a small glance, an accidental brush of his hand against hers, a brief smile.

It was only when they reached the entrance of the Royal Museum of Lucis that Briony finally found the words to say.

“Wait, I know this song,” she blurted out, the strumming guitars and bass were thrumming, and the music it created swelled with the cold, evening air. It came from the stage that was deliberately set up against a backdrop of the museum’s impressive architecture of bleached walls and ivory pillars, overlooking Insomnia’s breathtaking cityscape. And with every passing second, the tune was growing more and more familiar...

 _But I must admit it_  
_I would marry you in an instant_  
_Damn your wife, I'll be your mistress_  
_Just to have you around_

Her sudden realization made her harshly pulled the back of Nyx’s jacket.

“Hey, what was that for—“

“This is a _Lumineers_ concert!” Briony’s eyes were wide in pure excitement.

“Wow, so you know them?” The look in Nyx’s face said that he was both surprised and impressed. “I only know a few people who listen to them, so I assumed—“

“Nyx. They wrote a song that was titled after my middle name and I fucking love their music, so yes I do know them!” Briony was grinning from ear to ear, an expression that perfectly mirrored Nyx’s excitement. She did not even give Nyx a chance to say anything when she grabbed his hand and practically dragged him as they ran towards the stream of people steadily flocking around the stage, squeezing through the crowd and basking themselves into the music.

And whatever silent tension and long-harboured animosity that ached between Nyx and Briony suddenly ceased to exist—or better yet, like it _never_  existed in the first place. It was only him and her, soaked in the strobe lights and the adrenaline and the pumping bass. Briony allowed every beat of the music to drown her sorrows and miseries tonight as she eased into the comfort of Nyx’s company, relishing this closeness made strangely intimate by every song that they swayed and danced along to.

And Nyx’s hands—his warm and gentle and war-stricken hands—carefully held Briony by the waist, one that she did not mind at all. Even if the heat was rising violently in her cheeks.

 _If the sun don't shine on me today_  
_And if the subways flood and bridges break_  
_Will you lay yourself down and dig your grave_

 _“Or will you rail against your dying day!”_ Nyx shamelessly belted out lyrics as out of tune as possible, and Briony laughed until her jaws hurt from laughing. On and on, they sang and cried and laughed, like two drunk idiots but without the alcohol, only savouring the drunkenness of this moment, this euphoria, the rhythm and its magic.

 _The strangers in this town_  
_They raise you up_  
_Just to cut you down_  
_Oh Angela, it’s a long time coming!_

“Seriously?!” Nyx’s voice warred against the loud music, leaning his face closer against Briony’s ear—so close that she could smell that scent of peppermint and Glenwood all over again. “Would you kill me if I called you Angela—“

“I would fucking murder you in your sleep, Nyx Ulric!” Briony shouted back. Nyx laughed that charming laugh of his, the one that pestered Briony for reasons beyond logic could ever understand.

_Dear universe, I just need one imperfection from this man. I beg of you._

By the time the last act was over, Nyx took Briony’s hand and whisked her away to escape the crowd, returning into the almost soulless streets. The Central District of Insomnia seemed bigger at this hour; it was three a.m., and yet they were still humming and vibrating with so much energy, it was almost high and manic. At this most ungodly hour—this wretchedly, wondrous hour—they paraded the city streets and its skyscraper-infested avenues, unable to let go of each other’s hand, talking about silly stories of their childhood, their best dreams and their worst nightmares, their most favourite things, each subject threaded into one long and breathless conversation punctuated with waves upon waves of laughter. Nyx took off his jacket and draped it around Briony, who tried her best to stop herself from shivering, but failed anyway. They stopped over to the nearest Crow’s Nest, and Nyx bought them a massive plate of fish and chips matched with a giant glass of strawberry milkshake that the both of them shared. As they indulged this three-in-the-morning, all-carb diet, Briony showed Nyx her playlists, and in return, Nyx showed his, too... along with some random pictures of Whiskey making a home out of his bed, and a scratch post out of his desk that made Briony laugh. And to cap off the night, they sneaked into the topmost floor of the Citadel, exchanging mixtapes and book recommendations, exhausting the remaining hours watching the sunrise paint the city into a gentle pink blush.

And in that moment, Briony allowed herself to entertain a thought she felt would betray everything she had strongly felt thus far.

_Maybe I don’t actually hate Nyx Ulric._

As Nyx accompanied Briony back to her apartment building, she suddenly asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Nyx grinded to a halt.

“That you were my Secret Santa for that Pablo Neruda book you gave me.” Briony looked at him, curious and still not a shade of exhaustion in her face. “I saw a copy at your house. And your mom mentioned it was your favourite.”

“Nice work, Sherlock.” Nyx stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking away. “Well, I… dunno. I didn’t know if you would actually like it.”

“Then I’m happy to report that I _love_ it.” Finally reaching the front steps of her building, Briony smiled and teasingly said, “Anyway, this is my stop. Thank you for saving me tonight, hero.”

“I saved you from what exactly?” Nyx inched closer with a sly smirk on his horribly handsome face. In this morning light, his blue eyes were bright and too magnetic for Briony to bear. It was like staring directly at the sun.

“You… saved me from a really bad night, is all.” Briony chewed on her bottom lip, trying with all her might to avoid his intense gaze.

Nyx flashed that devilish grin of his and threw a salute. “Glad to be of service. Just doing my job.”

“Great.”

“Fantastic.”

“Super.”

“Amazing.”

Briony laughed. “This is a first, us saying nice things to each other. Are we just going to casually throw each other all the pretty adjectives available in the dictionary?”

“To be honest, you deserve every damn superlative available in existence,” Nyx deadpanned. Briony felt her cheeks burning, and she was certain it was not because of the morning sun. Seemingly flustered by what he had just said, Nyx scratched the side of his cheek and backpedaled, “I, uh—I should go. See ya around, partner.”

Nyx waved goodbye and walked away. Briony stepped inside her apartment building and went up her floor, still high and dazed with the evening’s music, still perfumed with this bizarre kind of bliss, still wearing Nyx’s black leather jacket…

_Shit._

As quickly as she could, Briony sprinted back down, past the lobby, and outside the building.

To her surprise, Nyx was standing in the front steps, as if he never even left.

“Hi.” They said at the same time. They both laughed.

“Um, you forgot something,” Briony handed him his jacket.

Stepping closer, Nyx nodded. “Uh, that. Thanks.”

“Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yeah?“

Briony had no clue what sort of bravery or foolishness possessed her in that moment, but when she yanked Nyx by the hem of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss, she swore his lips tasted like an explosion of peppermint Tictacs and Crow’s Nest’s strawberry milkshake. And she also swore her heart did not just skip a beat—it _stopped_ beating for a moment, her each pulse a casualty of Nyx’s scorching tenderness. Because despite the longing and the yearning and every shred of tension that lingered so strongly between them, Nyx kissed her slowly, softly and delicately, taking Briony’s face with the same warm and gentle and war-stricken hands that held her all throughout the night.

If this was how being incandescently happy felt like, Briony wanted to save this moment and never let it go.

 


	13. Gladiolus Amicitia

Apartment 401 was met with Gladio’s clear and booming voice that bellowed: “Rise and shine, Cupcake!”

Gladio and Ronnie’s friendship was well past the stage of courtesies and has made a home at the heart of shamelessly casual surprise visits. But if Gladio had been wiser, he should have never pulled the blankets so harshly away from Ronnie. Better yet, he should have at least given a proper call, or a simple knock at the door before he barged into Ronnie’s apartment.

Because to be greeted by Ronnie with nothing less than a screaming slew of curses and a missile of pillows hurling at his direction was what he deserved for waking her up in such a fashion.

And this only made Gladio bark a very amused laughter.

“Relax, it’s just me—”

“How the fuck did you even get in here?!” Ronnie roared, eyes still half-shut. Gladio noticed she was wearing quite an unconventional sleepwear—a pair of jeans, her signature dirty white sneakers, and her _Arctic Monkeys_ band shirt which he gifted her a few years back.

“You didn’t lock your door, genius.” Gladio stood by Ronnie’s bed side, eyes narrowed in concentrated scrutiny and curiosity. “Did you go out last night?”

Ronnie groggily groaned and stretched her arms. She looked down on her clothes and panic bleached her face white, “Shit. _Shit, shit, shit—_ wait, sorry, what time is it?”

“It’s time for you to get outta bed,” Gladio answered. “You promised to meet with Iris, remember?”

“Oh my god _yes,”_ Ronnie’s eyes snapped wider as she sprang out of bed. “Okay! Fuck, I’ll just… uh, I—wait here and I’ll be right back!”

Ronnie grabbed her towel, a fresh set of clothes, and sprinted past Gladio and locked herself into her bathroom. Gladio sank himself into Ronnie’s couch while he waited for her to get ready.

Even though it was only yesterday that they had spent a good amount of time together, Gladio was still letting the reality simmer: Ronnie was really back. And he was absolutely relieved to have Ronnie around again—seeing that feistiness trapped in her little body and hearing her throw an onslaught of profanities felt like the world was back to regular programming, as if the hourglass of his days had been stuck in a week that felt like years, and everything has now resumed trickling down to worthwhile minutes after spending a sickening amount of time worrying for her to return.

Of course, Gladio had Cor to thank for giving him the heads-up. Knowing how Ronnie had a terrible inclination of dealing with her own shit in total radio silence of complete hibernation, Gladio knew he made the right call to show up at her doorstep.

As it turned out, Gladio came just when Ronnie needed him most.

And compared to what Gladio saw yesterday, the Ronnie that finally emerged from the bathroom wearing a white _The Strokes_ band shirt, a washed out pair of jeans, and a yellow chocobo-patterned towel wrapped around her hair, was a chipper and brighter version of the emotional mess that she had been.

Ronnie beamed as she sat next to Gladio on the couch. “Okay, I know we’re meeting Iris but where exactly are we going?”

“Central District, Central Avenue. I’ll let Iris explain everything.” Then, he could not help but comment, “In other news: you seem to be in higher spirits, Cupcake.”

A blush crept up Ronnie’s face. She unwrapped the towel from her head and began rubbing her drenched hair furiously. “What? No! No, no, no. _This_ is adrenaline. I have less than two hours of sleep, no breakfast yet, not even a sip of coffee so here I am—“

“But why’re ya rambling and blushing like you’re hiding a dead body under that bed, Cupcake?” Gladio narrowed his eyes at her, a gaze lit with an intense suspicion. From being unable to correct him with his persistent use of her most disliked nickname, down to the feverish pink that rarely coloured her face… a decade of friendship also meant Gladio knew Ronnie’s erratic behaviour like he knew the back of his hand.

Gladio snatched the towel away from her. “So, _Cupcake._ What did you even do last night—“

“I kissed Nyx.”

The confession easily stumbled out of Ronnie, and was quickly followed by a pause. She shifted in her seat and stared at Gladio.

He only stared back.

_That… was not what I expected._

As the pause stretched into a suspenseful silence, Ronnie threw her hands in the air. “Good gods, please say something like, _Are you out of your mind?!_ or _Isn’t he your mortal enemy!_ or just anything—"

“You kissed Nyx Ulric? The same man you once swore to break limb by limb?”

Ronnie nodded.

“You mean you were the one who made the first move?”

Ronnie nodded again.

Confusion wrinkled Gladio’s face. Rubbing a hand against his stubbled cheek, he tried to elucidate his understanding: “So let me get this straight—somewhere between the time I left yesterday afternoon and this morning, you had made amends with your arch nemesis—the _Voldermort_ to your _Harry Potter,_ the _Jim Moriarty_ to your _Sherlock_ —and kissed him—“

“Not exactly made amends, but yes, I did kiss him.”

“In the mouth.”

“Yes, Gladiolus Amicitia, right in the mouth—where else could…”

Gladio’s cheeky smile spoke volumes of his intended innuendo.

Ronnie punched him in the chest. “Why, yes! A blowjob! Thank you for being so sensible in my time of crisis!”

Gladio coughed out a laugh. “Then can you at least elaborate what happened. Because how—what— _why?”_

Ronnie sat back and told him the entire story of how she was set up by her Glaive friends, how she was supposed to go home, and how in the end, she found herself accepting an invitation from Nyx to go to a _Lumineers_ concert.

And how last night had ended with what she described as the best kiss of her life.

“I know what I said before about Nyx okay,” Ronnie said, chewing her lip to stop herself from gushing or smiling or both. “That he’s a horrible, arrogant son of a bitch and I’d rather—“

“—swim in garbage than even hold his hand. You said that a thousand times as if it was a mantra to ward off evil.” Gladio teasingly finished Ronnie’s thread of thought with an impish grin.

“Yes. _Yes.”_ Ronnie sighed, unable to hide the exasperation and the puddle of conflicted feelings she was swimming herself in. “But now… I guess I might be wrong about him? He’s actually kind. And how he was looking out for us the entire time in Galahd was just… and then that kiss happened last night. Gods, _that_ was fucking something else. Fuck whatever the romance novels say about the sparks and all that magic, because it was so much more than that. It was like…”

“Like breathing without air.”

“Exactly. It defies science.”

“And logic.”

“Absolutely.”

“But the important question is: is it with or without tongue?”

“Can you stop being an annoying heathen for once?”

Gladio guffawed, unfazed by the insult.

Ronnie abruptly stood up, restlessly pacing back and forth. “Shit. I don’t know what to do with this… _thing._ Gladio, you know how I have the shittiest of luck when it comes to—“ she gestured her hands in a flailing motion to the rest of her— _“this.”_

If there was anyone on the planet who knew how Ronnie dealt with her feelings better than anyone else, it was Gladio. And much like anything else that came with their tightly-knitted friendship, it was indeed true that Gladio knew the outrageous luck that Ronnie faced when it came to dating—a department that which, in contrast, Gladio excelled at most admirably.

But Gladio, too, excelled at being Ronnie’s supportive cheerleader in helping her find romance.

Yet so far, despite long conversations with Ronnie and with his unusually wise words of advice that had been chalked down by his own personal experiences, he had only watched her either succeed in many false hopes or suffer from self-sabotaging her potential chance at happiness. (Like that one time, her fellow Glaive tried to gain her affection with a bouquet of her favourite brie cheese. In Gladio’s opinion, that dude seemed nice and sweet to even think about what Ronnie liked, but Ronnie only admitted that she felt nothing but indifference.)

And Gladio had been there too, whenever Ronnie had the misfortune of dealing with bad dates and other failed attempts of taking a shot with a potential serious relationship. (Like that one time, a guy Ronnie had been dating for months refused to be her boyfriend and left her with a snide remark, all because his family did not want him to be associated with either plebeians or immigrants. In Gladio’s opinion, the dude deserved to be broken into pieces, but Ronnie only cut her ties with him and had to convince Gladio not to break the fucker’s face.)

Now, with Ronnie’s situation with Nyx…

Gladio knew Nyx by his excellent reputation in the battlefield and his notoriety with the ladies. And in all fairness, Gladio was not quick to judge, yet he could not help but get slightly wary…

Not when what’s at stake was Ronnie’s happiness.

And Gladio could obviously see that tiny glint in Ronnie’s eyes whenever she mentions Nyx’s name, which was a huge milestone considering their constant feuding that even folks from the Crownsguard were aware of the scorching nature of Nyx and Ronnie’s working relationship in the Glaive.

Gladio tried to bite back his laughter from the thought of it, and ended up with a laughable snort. He stood with her and held Ronnie by her shoulders. “Ronnie. It’s called _emotions_ and you can’t avoid them by always referring to it by _this_ or _that._ Look, if Nyx _really_ likes you, he’ll call you. Not text, Ronnie—a _call._ Probably within twelve hours. And if he does call you, give him a chance.” Gladio playfully squished Ronnie’s cheeks. “Besides, I haven’t seen you this giddy over a guy in a long time, so go for it.”

“Right. Okay.” Ronnie said in a garbling sound as it was almost engulfed by Gladio’s massive hands. She shook her head and groaned, taking off his hands away from her face. “I should... keep that in mind.”

“Yep. But not too much, ‘cause gods know you’ll overthink this one.”

Ronnie smiled. “I’ll try not to.” She glanced at the clock perched on one of her shelves. An alarmed look passed her face as she looked up at Gladio. “But for now, as much as I’d love to continue this conversation, let’s get out of here before your sister kills us for being late.”

 

* * *

  
  
The commute from South Downtown to the Central District took approximately sixty-five minutes.

And in the sixty-five minutes that Gladio and Ronnie spent talking about new music releases, poetry books, and the latest stories from Johanna, there was an odd, prickling feeling that started to gnaw on Gladio. He never had this feeling before whenever he was with Ronnie, this mild discomfort every time he caught himself staring a bit too long at Ronnie’s oddly-coloured eyes, the freckles that scattered around her nose and cheeks, the smile on her pretty lips…

_Ronnie kissed Nyx._

The moment he had allowed himself to entertain the thought and let it fully immerse in his mind, Gladio soon realized that the odd gnawing feeling felt more like a silent chafing, a treacherous impatience for something he could not recognize. Like wanting something so desperately without even knowing what that something is.

And as if by looking at Ronnie, it just made him want to—

“Eos calling Gladio—you okay?” Ronnie’s voice dragged him out from his quickly spiraling mind. The train zipped through another station, and Gladio had not realized that he had spaced out for quite some time, leaving the subject about Johanna’s newest addition to her history collection hanging in his silence.

“Yup, all good. Anyway, as I was saying.” Gladio continued, only introducing another hilarious anecdote into their existing conversation, and laughed to dismiss the troublesome feeling away.

 

* * *

 

Gladio immediately spotted Iris waiting outside one of the boutiques with a fancy-scripted pink neon sign named _Vivienne Westwood_ on top of its glass windows. For a fifteen-year-old, Iris sure stood out in her short-sleeved hoodie and miniskirt, a fashion statement of hers that made Gladio feel the older brother queasiness from time to time.

“Ronnie!” Iris ran to Ronnie and swiftly wrapped her in a tight hug. “I missed you so much!”

”I missed you, too, baby girl.” Ronnie hugged her back rather awkwardly. Like she was trying to escape. (Which, most of the time, she really was.) “It’s either I’ve really gotten shorter or you’ve really gotten taller.”

Behind them, Gladio breezily noted, “You’re just really short, Cupcake.”

Ronnie turned around and shot Gladio a threatening glare. “Don’t make me break your kneecaps there, bud.”

Iris laughed, sunny and bright. She giddily looped her arm around Ronnie’s shoulder. “Aww, Ronnie. You’re the only one I could trust to hurt my annoying brother so feel free to beat him up anytime, okay?”

“Hey!” Gladio frowned. “Whatever happened to family—“

The quip withered somewhere under Gladio’s breath when Iris was already dragging Ronnie away and towards the shop entrance.

Gladio had no other choice but to follow.

Inside, Vivienne Westwood’s store was an impressive expanse of white glossy walls and zebra-printed carpeted floors, fragrant with the scent of lavender and unmistakable luxury. Mannequins dressed in expensive suits and ball gowns decorated its corners, lined with shelves of bags and rows of brightly-coloured clothes. As Gladio took a seat on one of the animal-printed couches that were neatly situated underneath a gaudy golden chandelier hanging in the middle of the room, he spotted Ronnie spying on a price tag of a purple floral dress, and her eyes widened with what could be interpreted as horror.

“Good lord, I can pay my rent for a year with the cost of this thing.” Ronnie grimaced. She turned to Iris, who sat beside Gladio. “So. What... occasion brings us here?”

Iris grinned, tucking her hands inside the pockets of her skirt. Excitedly, she announced, “Our house is hosting a charity ball three weeks from now, and because I’m in charge… I want you to be there! So we’re here to buy dresses and suits…”

The look of horror on Ronnie’s face intensified. It’s not that she disliked the idea of being invited by Iris—it’s just that social events were never Ronnie’s kind of thing. Especially the ones that involved getting all dolled up. She stammered, “Iris, I appreciate your invitation—but… I’m way out of budget and I don’t think I can afford to have any of this—“

“Ronnie.” Iris walked over to her and playfully palmed Ronnie’s face. “We’ll take care of it. Consider it as a gift! Please with strawberries and cream cheese frosting on top?” Iris rattled along and said, “Noct already requested Captain Drautos to have you off shift that day, so that’s already arranged. The other boys should be coming right over here… I wonder where they could be.”

Ronnie flooded Iris with questions. “Wait, he did what? And by other boys, you mean Noct and Prom and Iggy’s gonna be here?”

“Yeah.” Iris nodded. “Gladdy didn’t tell you anything?”

Ronnie shrugged. “He said nothing except he wanted you to be the one to explain so—“ she raised her hands to air-quote— “he wouldn’t steal _your_ thunder.”

In a heartbeat, Iris went on to explain that the charity ball—the Lucian Charity Gala as it was popularly called—was an annual fundraising event hosted by varying noble houses every year to raise funds for the benefit of University of Lucis’s promising scholars. She briefly added, “Well, Dad’s making me take the lead on this thing, so in turn, I get to invite guests! But I only had you and Prompto in mind ‘cause… Noct’s pretty much required to be there. So does Iggy and Gladdy. So I thought of including you guys, too!”

Ronnie crossed her arms and gave a half-hearted, half-convinced nod. She considered Iris for a second. “Are there any Glaives who’ll be on duty that day? ‘Cause if that’s the case, I’ll just join them and—“

Gladio butted in with another sneaky smile on his face. “Nope, I’m afraid only the Crownsguard will be making their rounds that night. Dad’s orders. Sorry, Pepperonnie.”

Ronnie sighed a hopeless sigh. “I can’t get out of this, can I?”

Iris giggled. “Nope! This’ll be fun, I promise. So now… the main priority is to find you a dress, the boys a proper suit—especially Gladdy ‘cause it’s hard to find something that will fit that monstrous body of his.”

Gladio glowered at his sister. “You sure are having fun picking on me today, young lady.”

As a meaningful response, Iris only rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at his direction.

Meanwhile, Ronnie was running out of protests and looked at Gladio with a begging expression as she mouthed, _Help me._ Gladio only offered her a shit-eating grin as Iris took it upon herself to drag Ronnie into the dressing rooms.

A few boring moments passed when two familiar voices came inside the store—

“Isn’t it too early to be shopping?”

“Dude, it’s already past eleven. And we promised Iris that we’ll clean up nice at the gala—oh, there’s Gladio! Hey there, big fella!”

Gladio turned around to see Noctis and Prompto sauntering in, walking past the casual wear section, making their way to where he comfortably sat. Even in his gray hoodie, black baggy jeans, and a sports cap, something about Noctis’s poise and posture still gave his identity away. Or maybe that’s just Gladio, having known the prince since they were children. Prompto, on the other hand, was in his red tank top and khaki pants, energized with his usual candor and mirth.

Gladio waved a hand. “Hey, you two. Where’s Iggy?”

“Sends his regards and apologies,” Noctis answered as he immediately slouched away beside Gladio. Prompto took the empty space on his other side.

Prompto cheerfully added, “Though Iggy did say he’ll try his best to catch up with us. He’s still stuck with the council meeting—“

Noctis and Prompto failed to further elaborate on Iggy’s absence when Iris finally burst out of the dressing room.

“Gladdy!” She glanced at Prompto and Noctis who sat on either side of Gladio. “Oh, you guys are already here—perfect! Okay, you gotta help me choose a dress for Ronnie—“

“Iris, this expensive thing is making me itch.” Ronnie sheepishly stepped out from behind the curtains, and showed up in a long, lacy red dress that flaunted her freckled shoulders and made a gallant exhibit of her back that showcased her faded scars—a long slash that grazed from her right shoulder down to the middle of her spine, and a tiny _x_ just above her hips—both of which Gladio knew well enough, all because he was the cause of those injuries she had garnered like badges of honour from all their rigorous training routines facilitated by none other than Cor himself.

But it was how this decadent red dress embraced the curves of Ronnie’s body so perfectly that Gladio barely recognized her for a second.

_Wow… I seriously need to punch myself in the face right now._

“So, um. What do you guys think?” Ronnie slowly and awkwardly twirled for her audience who were all busy gawking at her. Her arms timidly wrapped around her belly and chewed on her lip before she said, “Uh, my back’s not exactly a pretty sight, I know—but Iris said it can be remedied with a little concealer, so. Yeah.”

_Has she always been this riveting? Since when had she become this curvy and so—_

Noctis looped his arm around Gladio. _“It’s rude to stare,”_ he whispered in his best impression—albeit the worst mockery—of Ignis’s accent. Voice low in caution yet high with so much of his snarkiness, the prince added, “Man, don’t you think she's so…”

_—beautiful._

“Who are you _—_ ” Prompto choked out and leapt out of his seat, circling around Ronnie _—_ “and what have you done with our home girl?”

“I believe she has been devoured by this really expensive dress.” Ronnie smiled, cheeks tinted pink. “Long time no see, Prom—“

“Oh-em-gee, I freakin’ missed you!” Prompto hugged her so tight that something in Gladio’s gut clenched. A bit.

“Prom, be careful! I can’t ruin something this expensive and pretty!” Ronnie laughed, even if she was struggling to get out of Prompto’s death grip. Prompto was typically shy and awkward around girls, and yet with his and Ronnie’s common love for all things geekery, the two became fast friends.

And far too close to Gladio’s ghostly discomfort—

_Nope, all good. This is nothing. We’re all good._

“Ooh, right! Sorry!” Prompto gingerly pulled away, careful not to step on the dress. Instead, he began to happily chatter away: “So! Quick update in lieu of your return. I’ll have you know, I totally crushed my Classical History finals like a bunch of bugs! And can you believe Gladio helped us out reviewing? Also, can you believe big guy’s so worried about you he—“

“Okay, alright—cut that out.” Gladio rose from the couch and glared at Prompto, who only backed away with a mischievous smirk on his face. Noctis and Prompto exchanged a high five; Gladio’s glare could now murder a behemoth. The two boys flinched and smiled as innocently as their sinful asses could ever do.

“So, um. You look nice, Ronnie.” Gladio patted her on the back. _That was not smooth at all._ He turned to his sister, “Iris, is there any other dress that, you know, doesn’t show too much skin?”

“Wow, and this is coming from a guy who wears an open black shirt with nothing underneath.” Ronnie snapped back before Iris could even answer. Iris failed to stifle her laughter.

“Wait, you call this—“ Gladio smugly stepped closer to Ronnie until her face was close enough his bare abs— “nothing, huh, Cupcake?”

“I can see nothing but your perfectly chiseled chest _—_ is that what you’re trying to drive at here?” Ronnie said nonchalantly and looked up at him, hands on her waist, eyes firm and un-startled. Gladio could feel his ears reddening at that oddly positive remark, especially when he can almost taste her warm breath and the faint sweetness of her strawberry-scented perfume. Ronnie glanced at Iris. “I’m really sorry that your brother is this insufferable all the time—” then she turned to Gladio— “but for the sake of public decency, it would be greatly appreciated if you put something on.”

Gladio only straightened and mirrored Ronnie’s hands-on-waist stance and stared her down with a goofy smile on his face. “Why, is it distracting you?”

Ronnie rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Your ego’s what’s distracting me. Get your abs out of my face.”

“Why don’t you get your tiny munchkin face out of my abs.”

“Why don’t you guys get a room!” Prompto piped in. “Oh gosh, I missed you two together. It’s like watching a free live sitcom, it’s amazing.”

Noctis even added in jest, “And I don’t do this all the time, but as the Crown Prince of Lucis, I hereby proclaim you guys to be officially a married couple.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Noct.” Iris laughed. “But as the only other Amicitia present, I will fully support this union—“

 _“Guys, guys, guys.”_ Ronnie groaned in absolute exasperation. “There’s no need for marriage when I’m already putting up with this giant barbarian for a decade,” she dryly noted, throwing a very cheeky grin at Gladio; he generously returned it with his own equally cheeky scowl. Then, Ronnie reminded pointedly, “And all of you gremlins—“ she swiftly looked at Iris— “except for you, Iris, ‘cause you’re precious and I love you—“ then back at the boys— “are totally missing the purpose of why we’re here! I’ll go get changed because Iris has three other more torturous dresses for me to fit. Bye.”

And with that, Ronnie and Iris disappeared again into the dressing rooms, leaving Gladio and Noctis and Prompto to wander and browse for formal menswear.

Apart from all their mischief and wisecracks and every other jawbreaking banter that squeezed in between, Gladio and the rest of the crew monopolized Vivienne Westwood’s boutique, trying on different pieces in their quest to find their own perfect attire. Gladio and the boys watched the girls change from floral dresses to sultry evening gowns. Meanwhile, the girls helped the boys to find either a nice tux or a fine suit and tie.

Five pastel-coloured lacy gowns, four flowery dresses, and three hours of incessant bantering later, Iris found a dainty yellow cocktail dress befitting her favoured style. Ronnie settled for something that gained Iris’s five star rating and one-hundred-and-one percent approval, a dress which Iris decided to remain strictly confidential and will only be revealed until the night of the gala.

Back in her band shirt and denim jeans, Ronnie emerged from the dressing room and found Gladio struggling to fix his tie in front of the many full-length mirrors that cascaded from floor to ceiling.

“If I daresay, you look so dapper in that suit.” Ronnie smiled, standing beside Gladio and studying him through the mirror. The staggering height difference between him and Ronnie was in full view, and he could not help himself but rest his elbow on top of her head.

“Uh, thanks.” Gladio replied. “But if I daresay myself, I look just as dapper every single day—“

“Damn, you kiss your family with that narcissistic mouth?” Ronnie snickered, swatting his hand away from her head.

Gladio smiled wryly. “Thank you for constantly raining on my parade, Cupcake.”

“With pleasure.” Ronnie grinned. “Now c’mere and let me help you with that.”

Gladio leaned a little closer just so Ronnie could help him with his tie. The space that remained between them was good enough for Gladio to see the bright blue and the clear gray of her mismatched eyes, the freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose and sprinkled messily on her cheeks, the details of her face that he knew so well and yet now—

“There, all set!” Ronnie did his tie quicker than most, and with one last tug, she looked back at Gladio in the mirror and examined her handiwork with brimming pride. “Look at you, you dashing beast—“

“Gladio, Gladio, Gladio—I am so, _so_ sorry to ruin this really cute moment between the two of you _—_ ” Prompto suddenly appeared behind Gladio and Ronnie, still wearing the crimson suit he was trying on. Matching with the alarming urgency on his face, he squawked, “We have a major situation. It’s code red, big guy. I repeat, code red!”

Confusion simmered. Ronnie immediately looked battle-ready as Gladio demanded, “Where? What happened to Noct? Where’s Iris—“

Noctis swiftly sidled up with the group and butted in, “No, no! The _other_ code red, idiot—“

The store doors hissed open, and a sweetly polite voice greeted one of the clerks.

“Hi! I’m here to pick up my green dress, please…”

Gladio could recognize that voice anywhere. His gut sank deeper than any abyss in Eos.

It was Amara.

He swept a glance at Ronnie and Iris, swift and furtive.

_Of all the places I could—_

“Fancy running into you here, Gladio.” In long, graceful strides—because walking was never Amara’s thing, she strode like everything she stepped on was her majestic runway—Amara made her way from one end of the room to the center where Gladio and the rest of his friends had gathered. In her white pantsuit ensemble, black heels, and her lips stained bloody red, she emitted the same commanding presence just like her father.

Or pretty much everyone in the esteemed House Pax.

Amara glanced and smiled at Noctis and Iris, all the while deliberately ignoring Prompto and Ronnie who were all huddled close to each other.

The tension was, needless to say, arrestingly acidic.

Exactly the kind of venom that was right up Amara’s menacing alley.

All too pleasantly, Amara greeted, “Hello, Your Highness. Hi there, Iris.”

“Sup.” Noctis gave Amara a brief nod. Iris pretended she did not even exist in the same planet. If Amara was an expert at making people uncomfortable, Iris played that game better when it came to people she was not fond of.

Before Gladio could even form a statement to pacify this momentous turn of events, Amara spoke again.

“Look, I know a cold welcome when I see one, and I didn’t come here to bother you.” Amara sighed, hands held up in resignation. She stepped closer to Gladio and said, “I get the message, loud and clear—we’re done and you don’t want to talk. Even after that one night.” She turned to Ronnie, and smilingly said, “And… Briony. I’m sorry for that text. You didn’t deserve to be addressed like that… but next time, when a man’s taken, you should learn to keep your hands to yourself.”

The short silence that followed was loud with a scalding, thickening tension. Gladio and Iris exchanged knowing looks. Prompto and Noctis traded fearful glances.

They all knew that Ronnie, being a tiny menace herself, was never slow to recognize an offhand comment, and always too quick to surrender to fury.

Effectively shattering the anxious pause, Ronnie said, “For someone who comes from a well-bred family, you’re kinda shit in making apologies.”

Amara did not flinch. She returned the insult with a bite of her lip and a scornful smirk. She only closed the gap between her and Ronnie, and with their height difference, she literally looked down on her.

“Honey, I’m only telling you that you need to know your place.”

“Well _honey,_ how about you just suck my dick.”

Amara’s eyes sharpened with fueled disdain. She fired back, “Funny use of expression when you don’t even have one.”

“Oh, I guess you’re right,” Ronnie said flatly, yet her eyes were cold enough to freeze even the scorching crevices of hell. “Then go suck Gladio’s since that’s what you’re good at—and go fucking choke on it.”

“Why, you little bitch—“

“That’s enough!” Gladio’s interruption came like a thundering roar that it attracted the attention of every personnel present at the store. “For fuck’s sake, Amara—Ronnie had nothing to do with us, so could you leave her out of this? And please, just… just go.”

Amara spared Gladio with one furious look. And without saying another word, she harshly snatched the plastic-veiled dress that one of the lady clerks held for her and stormed out of the store.

Another silence. Ronnie cast Gladio a withering look.

And then, Prompto nervously started in an attempt to diffuse the situation, _“Maaaaan,_ Ronnie, remind me not to cross you ‘cause you sure are murderous—“

“I’m sorry about all that… crass,” Ronnie shook her head. And then to Gladio, she said, “You know what, after this, you and I are going back to your place, and you better have fucktons of beer ‘cause we’re gonna have a long chat, big guy.”

 

 

Gladio, indeed, had fucktons of beer back at 23A Hampton Street.

Truth be told, Gladio’s South Downtown apartment was not exactly hang-out worthy—much less a place to discuss matters of the heart—when there was nothing much in his place. Contrary to his spacious and adequately packed room back in House Amicitia, his flat was comparably smaller, almost barren in its bleached white walls and ashen gray cemented floors, but it was enough to accommodate a few of his camping equipment, a king-sized bed dressed in white sheets, a black leather couch, and a pair of gray bean bags. He did not bother buying another TV or a gaming console, not when reading was his preferred form of entertainment; he was satisfied with the stacks of books by his bedside table, and the ones neatly arranged on the white shelf in the room. The only thing that brought life to his humble space were the potted succulents from Iris that made a home over his window and atop the tiled counters of his kitchen.

And then, of course, was his fridge with his good stash of alcohol.

But for what it’s worth, if Ronnie built a nest made out of books in Apartment 401 two blocks down at Kingston Road—a street name which, in multiple occasions, Ronnie regarded with disdain all because it sounded too fancy for South Downtown, a neighbourhood of old tenements, small houses with worn-out iron fences, and thickly-woven trees—Gladio savoured the white, almost-barrenness of 23A Hampton Street.

Which, unfortunately, was the same room he had spent a countless times with Amara.

Including that one night.

“And _this_ is why I left that box ‘cause I knew you’d need something to remind you not to do something stupid,” Ronnie admonished as she settled comfortably on the couch, bottle of beer in hand. The voice she used was the one she always employed whenever Gladio really did, in fact, do something stupid.

Sitting at the opposite side, Gladio responded, “I know. But that was the last, I promise. I’ve been avoiding her like the plague ever since.”

Ronnie sighed, stretching her legs over the couch. “Why didn’t I know about this sooner? I mean, okay, I’m used to your catty, elitist ex-girlfriends, sure—but at least when Barbie Doll ambushed me earlier, I was better equipped with a wittier comeback or something.”

Gladio laughed. “Ronnie, the fact that you referenced my dick as a means to choke Amara—I don’t think anything’s gonna top that.”

Ronnie flushed pink in embarrassment and took a final swig. And then, she admitted, “I didn’t mean to say it! It’s just… ugh. Gods, to think Iris was there.”

“Nah, it’s cool. Iris is old enough to accept that your potty mouth just makes you who you are,” Gladio added mirthfully. Ronnie, in return, mirthfully kicked him on his thigh. “And I was going to tell you. But first of all, you need to work on your texting habits. And secondly… I didn’t want to bother you with something so… trivial. Not when you’re having such a hard time—“

“Are you kidding me?” Ronnie slapped Gladio on the chest, her face full of disbelief. She set her empty beer bottle on the floor. “Seriously. We’ve been bothering each other since the day we met. You saw me bleed my first period when we were training. I saw you cry on your first three sessions of getting that tattoo—you know so much about me that if you look just like me, you could pretend to be me for a day. Or a year. I could do the same with you—at least, in that aspect, I get to be taller, see what’s the view up there.” Gladio laughed at the image of it, and a bright, toothy grin spread across Ronnie’s face.

She continued, “Anyway, my point is—we both have been through a lot and don’t you ever say your situation is _trivial,_  not when you invested your time and feelings in that relationship, not when she means—she  _meant_ something to you. And I’m always here to listen, or beat some sense into you if need be, okay?”

“I know.” Gladio nodded. “Your duty as Hand of the Shield, yeah.”

Ronnie suddenly beamed brighter than the sun. “See! Oh my god, it is so satisfying to hear you finally claim my _Game of Thrones_ reference and apply it in our day-to-day conversation. So, my lord. Do I get a shirt, or a pin—“

“Can it.”

She snickered. “And if I were to be honest—“

“—which you are all the fucking time, so yeah, sure—“

“Yeah, so. Your personal dating life is, like, my crack—exciting enough to talk about but still bad enough for my health. Like, your tendency to date the wrong girls diminishes years of my life.”

Gladio‘s laughter erupted louder than ever. “So the moment I find the right girl should give you eternal life then.”

“Precisely. That’s how I will have my immortality, Gladio. I will take that monicker out of Cor’s name, I’m telling you.” Ronnie stood, quickly grabbed two more bottles from Gladio’s fridge, and handed Gladio the other bottle. “But okay, kidding aside—this… this is about your Crownsguard duties or your responsibility as a Shield, isn’t it? Or at least, part of the reason?”

Gladio paused. He cracked the bottle cap open with one flick of his thumb. He took one full swig of liquor into his system before he answered, “Part of it, yeah… I mean, who am I kidding. I thought she would understand. I thought she understood and was fully supportive. But as months went by, when Amara wanted me to reevaluate the time I’m spending on the job, which she should have known very well that it matters to me a lot, I felt like… what do I still need to do to make it both work? ‘Cause I’ve done whatever I can to adjust my schedule so we could go on dates, made sure I picked her up from work, showed up in all these clothes she chose for me ‘cause she wanted me to look a certain way to her friends—a funny thing when she can’t even stand the idea of hanging out with you and even Prompto… and I just. It’s never enough for her.

"Well, I dunno. I suppose I can’t have both. So yes. I guess it will always be about that, Ronnie. At the end of the day, it’s still my duty to the Crown above anything else.”

Gladio and Ronnie settled with a somber silence for a while. By saying it all out loud to Ronnie, Gladio felt like he just liberated himself from a burden he had been carrying all his life. Having been conditioned to live his life tethered to the responsibility of serving and protecting the royal family—Noctis, most especially—Gladio sworn to fulfill that task, even at the expense of his personal relationships.

Even so, Gladio loved, deeply, time and again; he had fallen in and out of love, though at this point, he could not claim if he ever truly found the kind of love that consumes. The kind that is worth fighting for. The kind that is just _right._ Right enough to quell his inhibitions, to embrace that he was a walking conflict, a moving paradox constantly at war between his desire to settle and his fear to commit his heart to another person. The romantic in him wanted to pursue that prospect of loving so fully until his heart stops beating; the pragmatist in him would chastise him for entertaining the idea of it, that it would be nothing but a complication and never a necessity, a mere, reckless compromise in his line of duty.

“Then I only pray to all the Astrals and summon the energies of the cosmos that you, My Best Dude, shall find that person who would be selfless and understanding enough to accept the consequences of being with you, flaws and all.” Ronnie dissolved the silence with words that he both needed and wanted to hear. Like she always knew what to say to push him back, like she always had his best possibilities in mind, even if he was at his absolute worst.

She raised the bottle to Gladio and said, “And if you do meet that person, please know I’m always ready to plan your bachelor party.”

Gladio almost coughed out a lungful of beer. “Well, joke’s on you ‘cause I’d plan your bachelorette party if things between you and Nyx go smoothly.”

Ronnie rolled her eyes. “That is _not_ gonna happen.”

“Your blushy face says you want it to.”

“I’m blushing at the idea of the strippers you’ll line up for me, seeing it’s right up your expertise—oh, wait a sec.”

Ronnie fished her phone out of her pocket as it hummed a low familiar tune.

Her eyes widened in surprise and threw her phone at Gladio.

“What the—why the fuck did you throw your phone at me!” Thank the Six for Gladio’s quick reflexes because he was able to catch it just fine.

He was also able to catch the caller ID on the phone.

_Speak of the devil._

“Sorry! I just—what should I say?” Ronnie was panicking, as usual.

“It’s a fucking call, Ronnie—“ Gladio shoved the phone back to her— “go answer it! Or do you want me to—“

“Okay, no thanks give me that—“ Ronnie snatched the phone and hurriedly answered, “Hi.”

Gladio watched her as she kept her eyes locked on him. Nyx’s voice was barely audible on the other line.

Ronnie looked away and nodded. Twice. Thrice. Gladio couldn’t get the expression on her face. She bit her lip as she replied, “Yup. Tonight? Okay. Library. Yeah, sure.”

Then the call ended.

“Okay, so I gotta go.” Ronnie jumped from her seat. “Regrouping with the Eastern Galahd crew.”

“Oh, really now. You sure you don’t need condoms? Check my bedside table—”

“No! Ugh, you’re impossible—why are you like this? And it’s not even a date. Libertus and Crowe will be there.” Ronnie scoffed. Gladio saw her look at the direction of his bed. She looked back at him and he smiled at her, devilish and full of malicious intent.

“The offer still stands—“

“Okay, I guess I’ll take those _just in case.”_

Gladio guffawed an amused laughter as Ronnie scuttled to his bedside table and out towards the door.

“Go get the Vitamin D, Cupcake,” he yelled after her.

“Please don’t have another makeup sex with your evil ex-girlfriend!” She yelled back, blew him a flying kiss and an excited grin, and bolted out of his apartment.

 

* * *

 

The time it took for Gladio to return to his worn-out train of thought was approximately sixty-five minutes.

And in that sixty-five minutes, as he lay on his bed at 23A Hampton Street, he entertained the image of that thought and allowed it to prance aimlessly in his head.

_Ronnie kissed Nyx._

He could not quite fathom as to why he could not shake it out, or why it gave him unwanted feelings of discomfort. Or why it simply bothered him in the first place. Like a pebble was stuck between his teeth, or a rock in his eye that he just couldn’t get out, it was a screeching pang that continued to scratch the surface of his insides like a buzzing chainsaw, singing a dissonant hum that chanted repeatedly:

_Ronnie likes Nyx._

What had once been a silent gnawing had morphed into a brutal twinge, a choke, a suffocating pain without a face and a name for him to bury his clenched fists.

_And she might be in love with him._

At that last thought, he gave in.

Gladio turned off the lights and slept.

 


	14. Nyx Ulric

“Nyx, I know you’re dying to see Briony again—but you could’ve at least told her that meeting up with everyone was _my_ idea.”

The voice that spoke was teasing yet mildly chastising, a tone that Nyx had grown accustomed to in all the years he had spent with sassy friends like Crowe.

But the voice wasn’t Crowe’s. Nor was it from any of his other sassy Glaive friends. The voice was soft and childlike, a foreign sound that was exceptionally out of place in his shabby little apartment. And while it was true that it was not entirely his idea to meet with Briony and the rest of the gang, Nyx only wished that he would get to see Briony tonight under better circumstances.

And by better circumstances, he simply wished for a less complicated evening—one that did not involve a situation with his charming tuxedo cat, who had somehow gained the ability to _talk._

“If I told her right then and there, she would immediately go into full on investigator mode and fire me with hundreds of questions,” Nyx told Whiskey as he slouched back on his ragged, leather armchair—the coziest piece of furniture he ever cared to admit that he owned—still disoriented with the idea that he really was having _this_ conversation. An active dialogue with a _cat._ With actual phrases and sentences. (Not that he would ever admit having a purring exchange with Whiskey. With this turn of events, those bygone days now seemed downright embarrassing.)

As it happened, Whiskey’s—or Hestia’s—staggering phenomenon had started days after the Eastern Galahd crew had safely returned to Insomnia with the frisky feline in tow. Nyx only had the misfortune of finding it out when Whiskey pounced on him the morning he returned to his apartment after that surreal night with Briony, where his cat companion welcomed him with a cheeky _Where have you been all night!_ rather than a usual _meow._

Nyx was almost convinced that his mind was playing dumb tricks on him. Considering he had only been reeling from his own magical evening—a cheesy description if he dared to be honest, yet a complete understatement altogether, because gods help the poor man, just thinking about the music, the laughter, the sunrise, and that strawberry-milkshake-cherry-Chapstick flavoured kiss still made him smile from ear to ear—being surprised by Whiskey with another magical revelation was good enough to pull him out of his love drunk wits. Sort of.

Nevertheless, having thought that she could figure things out on her own, Whiskey offered Nyx a hearty apology for not telling him sooner, and promised to explain at length the truth about her nature as soon as they met with the others. In return, Nyx vowed to help her in any way that he can and to practice calling Whiskey by her real name—the latter an effort deemed unnecessary by the cat herself, not when the name Whiskey had strangely grown on her. Nyx was somehow weirdly relieved by this; and to let the whole exchange stew and marinate in his head, he allowed himself a moment of silence and a shot of vodka from his alcohol supply to kick it into his system for good measure.

Besides, if Nyx took into account everything that they had seen and discovered thus far, a talking cat seemed to be just another fitting marvel he could add to his repertoire of supernatural events.

_Just like that kiss. And that whole night. That... was fucking something else._

“You’re zoning out again.” Whiskey hopped from his unmade bed and climbed in his lap, stealing him away from the memory of that night. The feisty furball looked up at him with its annoyingly adorable green eyes and purred. And then spoke again, “You sure do know how Briony would react to this, huh, Nyx.”

“Of course. I mean—”

Whiskey playfully placed a paw on his chest. “Of course, because you like her.”

“That’s not…”

The cat tilted her head and eyed him in luminous curiosity. “Why yes, because you’re in love with her!”

Nyx shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Wait, no…It’s not like that—”

“Oh, goodness.” Whiskey stretched her entire body and yawned. “I could never understand why you humans put on an effort wasting precious time concealing your true feelings. I see the way you look at her, Nyx. Like she’s the sun and you’re a sunflower who just can’t live without her.”

Nyx defensively answered with a swift, embarrassed chuckle, “First of all, thanks for that wonderful piece of poetry. But it’s not that simple.”

“It _is_ simple.” Whiskey pressed on as she curled herself on Nyx’s lap. “You just prefer complicating things.”

Nyx sighed heavily, like his breath had been weighed down by immense guilt, all because he knew Whiskey was right. _I can’t believe I’m now under scrutiny by my own cat,_ he thought helplessly, overwhelmed by the urgent need to escape from this subject that beckoned a longer discussion on how he dealt with his personal feelings and relationships.

Because if Nyx had the guts for plain honesty, it really was simple.

He had always liked Briony since the day he met her.

And by _like,_ it meant his heart skipped a beat the first time Briony smiled at him down the Kingsglaive HQ hallway, all freckled face and mismatched eyes aflame with dauntless spirit. It meant his mouth forgot to hold words of praise when he first witnessed that dauntless spirit in action, a time when he watched her holding her ground against Tredd, punching him right in the face for underestimating her fighting skills. It meant that the butterflies in his stomach were replaced by wild wyverns the day she first tended to his wounds—a profoundly absurd feeling when he was aching and bleeding all over the place—because the same fists who awarded the Glaive’s resident asshole a split lip and a missing tooth were a pair of gentle and careful hands mending his burned chest and fractured leg, as if she saw that his brokenness ran so deep that it required her to channel an unworldly tenderness, a genuine kindness that he could not dare forget.

And now, it meant his heart threatened to burst at the seams and spill at any given second, because never in his life did he ever feel that a kiss could be so goddamn _right._

But alas, plain honesty was never Nyx’s thing. Not when it was easier to hide the truth under the guise of sarcastic jokes and petty squabbles. Not when it was more convenient to chase things that come and go, much like all of his flings and one night stands. Not when he had taught himself that any form of attachment or affection was a luxury he could not afford, a kind of happiness that he could not reach even if he tried.

Not when he had trained himself to acknowledge that in their line of duty, caring too much was a disadvantage.

Because in their line of duty, all he had ever done was to spend countless of times rebuilding a wall to protect himself from falling apart, only to be crushed again by the agonizing grief of losing Maxx when he already lost his sister, his old friends, his home; everything that he deeply cared about had all been lost, gone, dead.

And the very prospect of losing Briony, too, just… terrified the shit out of him.

So the next thing he knew, he was not in his apartment anymore. The furniture and the walls crumbled into rubble. The stench of smoke and rotting corpses was sharp enough to rip out his lungs that he could not breathe. He had a scorching battleground for a spiraling mind, and everything was on fire and torched to the ground.

_One, two, three, four, five…_

Nyx squeezed his eyes shut and took the remaining ounce of his sanity to start counting. The raging sound of gunshots and blasts of magic screamed in his ears, a white noise, a screeching static.

_Six, seven, eight—_

“Nyx!”

His breath arrived in harsh gasps when his eyes snapped back into focus, as if he had drowned and Whiskey’s voice pulled him back to the surface. He felt her paw kneading his face, warm and endearingly affectionate as she stared right into his eyes with a searching look.

“I’m still here,” Whiskey purred softly, gently brushing her face against his chin. “You’re here and you’re fine—I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. It… happens.” Nyx wrapped his trembling arms around Whiskey, cradling and hugging her in a quiet gesture of relief and utmost comfort, planting a kiss on top of her head. He felt her playfully licking the corner of his jaw, like she was attempting to put a smile back on his face. Which worked.

Nyx whispered, more to himself than to Whiskey, “I’m… okay. And… I should probably get going.”

 

* * *

 

The west wing of the Citadel library was ghostly in its silence, as if each footstep was a sin waiting to be punished. The rows of desks that were typically populated by students on weekdays were now devoid of people, and the only company that Nyx saw in this elaborately decorated space were the ornamental statues of unearthly beings with wings and spears, their eyes cast down, seemingly judging his every move.

Nyx marched forth as quietly as he could.

 _It would’ve been easier if Johanna had been at the front desk,_ he mused, slightly curious as to the old librarian’s whereabouts. Nyx had never seen her outside of her desk, given all the instances that he had ever visited the library. He slowly dismissed the curiosity as he went deeper into the hall, passing through enormous portraits and towers upon towers of packed shelves that swept from floor to ceiling. The silence grew too painfully deafening that he could hear his backpack shift a little… with a purr.

In his discomfort, he finally shot Libertus a text:

_8:11 PM where tf are you guys_

The evening air grew thicker with the old, musty smell of books by the time he reached the area with the elevated platforms for accessing the second floor shelves. At the farthest corner of the room, Nyx finally saw three familiar figures gathered around a long study table.

It had been days since Nyx saw them last, and there was always something strange in seeing Crowe, Libertus, and Pelna outside their Glaive uniforms, all in their casual wear: Libertus slouched at ease in his plain white shirt and jeans ensemble; Pelna looked supremely cozy in his gray _Metal Gear Solid_ hoodie and a pair of navy khakis; and there was Crowe, a genuine sight for sore eyes in her black tight-fitting turtleneck dress and brown combat boots, looking royally comfortable sitting cross-legged on the table rather than on the chair.

But Nyx thought it even stranger seeing them huddled over heaps of books instead of plates of skewers and bottles of booze.

“What took you so long, hero?” Libertus perked up on his seat and casually greeted Nyx in his normal tone that his voice echoed and swelled all over the place, in which Nyx responded with a sneer. Crowe, who was peacefully leafing through what seemed to be an ancient volume just across from Libertus, had to give him a frighteningly stern look, a message that clearly said, _Keep it down, you idiot._

“So before you ask where the love of your life is, know that she’s here and just went out looking for Johanna.” On the other end of the table, Pelna stood and browsed through his newspaper and magazine pile, wearing his usual cheeky smile on his equally cheeky face.

“Uh, I wasn’t… gonna ask that. But okay.” Nyx scratched his cheek, and before he could even retract that statement, Crowe and Libertus and Pelna collectively gasped and threw each other annoyingly teasing glances.

“Aha! You finally admitted it!” Libertus triumphantly pointed at Nyx in his most hushed tone yet, despite his obvious excitement. “You do admit Ronnie is the love of your life!”

“That’s… that’s not even—“

“And look how tongue-tied he is! Gods, never thought I’d see the day,” Crowe quickly added, huffing a wide grin at Nyx.

Pelna leaned over the table, resting his face on both hands, looking ever so curiously at Nyx. “So lover boy, before our Ronnie girl gets back… what happened to you guys the other night?”

 _It just happened to be the most amazing night of my life, that's what,_ Nyx thought to himself, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from foolishly smiling at the thought of that kiss. Again.

Instead, he said as neutral as he possibly could, “Well, at first, she almost killed me and Yamachang for that stupid prank of yours, so thanks for being the most amazing friends on this goddamn planet. The rest of the night is… none of your business.”

“Wow, so it’s like that now, huh,” Libertus crooned, scowling in disappointment that his best friend denied to answer with the juicy details that was brought upon by their set up. “It’s completely unlike you to not kiss and tell when you’re not exactly a gentleman.”

Pelna and Crowe bit back their laughter. Nyx feigned a realization and said, “Oh wait a sec, Libertus. I forgot I have something for you.” He pretended to dig through the pocket of his jeans and his leather jacket, and finally flashed Libertus his middle finger and a cocky smile.

Before Libertus could offer his response, their banter was interrupted by approaching footsteps.

It was Briony.

Nyx had to force himself to act cool and actively ignore that she was wearing a  _The Strokes_ band shirt, else he would be unable to control himself from gushing over one of his favourite bands  _ever—_

“So what’re you guys talking about?” She stopped beside Nyx and took the time to look at the troublesome trio, intrigued by their existing discussion. And then she paused to look at Nyx. “You’re finally here. Hi.”

Nyx casually offered a salute. "Hi there."

Crowe could not hide the taunting smile on her pretty face. “Oh, Ronnie—we’re just... you know, talking about how excited we are that you’re invited to the Lucian Charity Gala,” she lied, an almost perfect ruse as she eyed Libertus and Pelna to nod along.

Except that Nyx did not entirely get the memo on that tidbit of information.

Naturally, Nyx had to blurt out: “Wait, seriously?” In which he carefully backpedaled, “I mean, yeah. The Gala. Sorry, I just… got here.”

Briony rolled her eyes at their loose attempt to cover up their hijinks. “Uh, right. That’s not exactly an interesting topic—“

“What do you mean _it’s not an interesting topic—_ oh my goodness, Ronnie girl. You precious, lonely potato,” Pelna butted in, raring to school all of them about the glitz and glamour that was the Lucian social scene. He may not seem like it, but Pelna was always keenly updated and religiously kept tabs on Insomnia’s events, both foreign affairs and trivial matters alike. “The Lucian Charity Gala is the most prestigious ball in this city, inviting politicians and celebrities and every noble house in existence. It’s for a good cause, I’ll give them that—but it’s also the perfect excuse for them rich people to dress up with the fanciest shit and show off their ka-ching, ya dig? So the fact that you’re invited means you’re representing us normal folk!”

Crowe even excitedly chimed in, “And I promise you, Ronnie. Tell Lady Iris that I already got your hair and makeup covered, ‘cause I’m gonna use every expensive stuff I have on my makeup kit and make you the most beautiful commoner in the history of Insomnia’s commoners.”

“And I’ll give you a pocket-sized pepper spray. And mints.” Libertus leaned in closer to contribute to the discussion. “Think of us as your fairy godparents—“

“Or fairy god _fellas—_ amirite?” Pelna corrected. “Or like those dudes in _The Hunger Games._ Cinna, was it?”

“Yeah, and that certainly took a dark, post-apocalyptic turn, Pel,” Nyx countered, partly amused that Pelna managed to drop a random clever reference from a book series that Nyx made him read. At the corner of his eye, Nyx caught Briony looking at him with the same amusement, a short moment of understanding that she, too, got that reference. She smiled. Nyx felt as if his heart just slammed on the brakes. He tried to keep himself from staring at her face. And her lips.

Nyx summoned his best effort not to kiss her right at that moment.

Pelna, always swift enough to sense any foreboding tension of any kind, immediately cleared his throat and quipped, “Well, _Peeta,_ do you volunteer yourself as tribute to be our very own _Katniss’s_ date? Her _Gale_ is twice your size, pretty bodacious, smart, rich, so I gotta warn ya—“

If looks could kill, the sharp look Nyx hurled at Pelna’s direction could have been counted as homicide.

“Right, looks like I tiptoed myself into jealousy island, so I’ll stop right there.” Pelna faked a flinch and added, “Please don’t hurt me—“

“Anyway! Since we’re all here now, can we go back to the reason why… we’re here? I mean... I, too, got some stuff I could get cracking with some old-fashioned library research, but um… Nyx?” Briony finally invited the most logical question into their quickly derailing conversation, promptly steering their discussion back to the original agenda that relieved Nyx from the mental image of Briony wearing a beautiful dress and being whisked away by Clarus Amicitia’s burly, eldest son.

“Yeah, Nyx—if you could do the honours, since… well, you’re the one who called us here,” Crowe said and shot Nyx a glance. “Though… actually, we just kind of went ahead and did our own digging ourselves—“

“Do you hear that?” Libertus abruptly pointed out, cutting Crowe off and effectively making her and Pelna and Briony alerted by the hushed noises coming from Nyx’s backpack...

_Ah, shit. Shit._

Nyx hurriedly set the backpack down the table and let the cat out of the bag. Quite literally.

“Aww man, it’s just Whiskey,” Pelna sighed in relief as Whiskey trotted over the table and approached Briony, who was torn whether she would be upset with Nyx for bringing a cat inside the library where animals were strictly prohibited, or utterly relieved to be reunited with Whiskey.

“Hi there, li’l buddy.” Briony brought the cat into her arms. She hissed at Nyx, “God, you’re one lucky bastard that Johanna wasn’t in her post or else she’d be absolutely livid! You know that pets aren't allowed—“

“I beg your pardon, but I am not a _pet._ I am a Messenger, in case anyone’s forgotten.”

Briony froze. Pelna and Libertus exchanged alarmed glances. Nyx bit his lip to keep himself from laughing at everyone’s shell-shocked faces.

Crowe had to ask to make sure she was not hallucinating: “Was it just me or Whiskey just—“

“—talk? Yes, I just did.” Whiskey confirmed, licking her paw. “Hi, everyone. Crowe, you look amazing.”

Crowe hurried to Briony’s side to get a closer look at Whiskey. “Did you guys hear that? I just got complimented by a fucking heavenly creature. I feel so validated. I love you.”

Pelna laughed. “And to think I just beat an RPG game yesterday with a talking cat in it. This feels weirdly like déjà vu or somethin’.”

“You sound just like when you appeared in my dream,” Briony blurted out. “What’s going on?"

“She's the reason why we're all gathered around here, so I'll let her take over,” Nyx beckoned, with Whiskey hopping away from Briony’s arms and back over the table.

And so, with all of the Glaives giving Whiskey their full and undivided attention, she did not waste a second narrating her predicament… and a bit of her history.

Whiskey explained that she was molded out of the Infernian’s hearth, which granted her the power of fire and the uncanny ability to transform into any animal—an ability that somehow backfired when she was one of the defeated Messengers in the battle with Naglfar. By the time she was reincarnated, Ifrit had succumbed to the Starscourge, which left her stuck being a cat and with all her powers out of her control.

Which now brought her to her current, confusing issue: being somewhat stuck between being a cat and a human.

"I shouldn't be able to communicate in any human language while I'm in my animal form," Whiskey clarified. "And yet here we are."

“Don't you think it's Ifrit?” Libertus suggested, rubbing the side of his face in deep thought. “Maybe the Pyreburner is alive somewhere and that’s… I dunno, helping you getting back to normal again?”

“I don’t think so.” Whiskey shook her head. “I have already ruled out that possibility. I would be the first one to know if the Infernian lives. I may have been rendered weak by my circumstances, but I would still sense it, just as I could sense the rest of the gods and their Messengers. We are all tethered by the same energy…” She trailed off, and continued on a sad, peculiar note, “And even if _he_ does live… I’m afraid he will never be the same again.”

Everyone continued to ponder in silence, until Pelna decided to ask, “So, what exactly are we supposed to look at here in the library?”

Whiskey scratched her face. “Now that’s the thing. I sensed one of my kind seemed to be around here somewhere.”

The Glaives were surprised that they traded worried glances. Completely startled, Briony just had to repeat, “You mean another Messenger? Here in the library?”

“Yeah. It’s… they seem vague,” Whiskey answered. “Or maybe that’s just my messed up powers, but someone is here. And I’m sure of it—”

“Wait, someone’s coming.” Crowe’s tone was low and severely panicked as the group’s discussion promptly dissolved with the sound of footsteps echoing at a short distance. Nyx turned and tried to look closely...

"Fuck, I seriously need to get my eyes checked, but I think it's Johanna." Nyx apologized under his breath, "Sorry Whiskey, but we gotta hide you."

"Huh, but why—" Whiskey was unable to protest as Pelna and Libertus hurriedly made an effort to hide Whiskey behind a pile of books to keep the cat out of sight. Crowe and Briony straightened up and tried to act all innocent.

The decision to hide Whiskey had been right because it really was Johanna who approached their table. 

Arms folded over her chest, she eyed them all with suspicion—Briony included. “Fancy seeing you all here at this hour. Briony, what did I tell you about bringing your Glaive friends—”

Before Briony could even defend themselves, the decision to hide Whiskey seemed useless when she hopped out of the pile and out into the open. Whiskey stared at Johanna, and Johanna only stared at Whiskey.

_Oh gods, we are going to be banned here for the rest of our lives._

Nervously, Nyx started on their behalf, “Johanna, I... I’m so sorry about this...”

Nyx had wanted to go further to explain himself. He wanted to make up some elaborate lie as to how a cat just materialized here in the library. He had a lot of those creative excuses right at his disposal. But as soon as he heard Johanna exchange a conversation with Whiskey in the same foreign language he had heard with Maxx, the attempt wilted in his disbelief. 

Briony was the brave one to step out and express her bewilderment. 

"Johanna, you're—"

"Our kind has been living in peaceful anonymity for a long time now." A rare smile graced Johanna's face as she happily cradled Whiskey in her arms. "You have reunited me with one of my sisters, and for that I am grateful. But for the sake of our existence..." Johanna hesitated and went on, "With Briony as an exception, tell me one good reason why I should trust the four of you to go out into world with this knowledge. Tell me one good reason why I should let you all live—"

"Oh, Johanna, you're still as uptight as ever." Whiskey playfully appeased Johanna, which was a generous gesture, granted that everyone was too shocked to even react. Or draw their weapons for the sake of their survival. Whiskey added, "And I can vouch for them. They are all kind souls, so there's no need to do  _that."_

"And I completely second the motion!" A voice suddenly chimed in, a familiar, thundering rumble that Nyx could recognize anywhere.

 _It can't be..._  

When the voice emerged from the shadows of the towering shelves, for Nyx and for everyone else, it was as if they had been harshly warped back in time.

Because still in his typical Hunter's garb yet with the absence of any wound or injury, Maxx leaned on a shelf with a bright grin plastered on his face and announced, "The looks on your faces tell me that you haven't paid attention to anything I said back in Galahd! Anyway, you guys miss me or what?"

 


	15. Briony Clark

As a child, Briony always loved to hear Candela regale a tale or two about Messengers.

If she had her way, Briony would rather have those moments with her mother than spending most of her days in boring classes, being taught math and science and proper decorum, all for the sake of being cultivated to a ladylike comportment worthy to serve the Tenebraen courts. But Briony never had it her way, not when her mother spent majority of her time by the queen’s side. Instead, her mother was clever to offer a handsome compromise to help Briony focus on school and stay out of trouble: she promised to read more stories to Briony even way past midnight, as long as Briony swore to perform well in all her classes.

Naturally, Briony faithfully kept her end of the bargain, much to her annoyance with her math subjects.

Still, Briony cherished these small, quiet moments with Candela at least twice a day that it almost felt like a routine, one she specifically would never get tired of. Twice a day meant every morning, a little before sunrise, when Briony would push herself to wake up early and watch her make breakfast for the both of them; and every evening, a little before midnight, when Briony would push herself to stay awake past her bedtime and wait for her to come home to keep the other side of their promise. And also, to help her with homework. Usually, somewhere in their discussion about geometry and obtuse angles, Briony made sure to casually slip a Cosmogony-related topic—a tactic that worked on Briony’s favor if she got at least three consecutive correct answers in her assignments. Candela only happily indulged her in return, though she would often argue that Gentiana was more knowledgeable about the subject than she was.

But regardless if Gentiana was present in the room or not, Candela would always relent to Briony’s curious mind; if she was tired from a long day’s work or a hellish week, she never showed it to Briony. Candela would always, without fail, spoil Briony rotten with her time—these small hours that they have together—and pepper her with her undivided affection and attention and these stories from the Cosmogony that Briony had grown to love. And Candela would always tell Briony these stories about the Messengers with such aching fondness, how they were the unsung heroes of the Great War of Old, and how Gentiana, and Pryna, and Umbra were just a few of the other deities that exist all over Eos…

And after all these years, among the many things from Tenebrae that stayed with Briony was her fascination to all things myth and magic. And often she wondered if there would come a time that she would meet others like Gentiana, or Pryna, or Umbra.

Frankly, _this_ was not how Briony had imagined it.

The west wing of the Citadel library suddenly felt small and the table where the ragtag group of Glaives and Messengers convened even smaller. Across from Briony, Johanna and Maxx sat side by side, with Whiskey making a seat out of Maxx’s broad shoulders. Beside her, Crowe and Pelna tried their best to look calm; Nyx and Libertus, however, were both failing miserably in that effort.

Needless to say, both sides were restless and uneasy. Which was no surprise when the Glaives had tackled Maxx with a welcoming hug—except for Nyx and Libertus, who both had welcomed him with a punch on both sides of his handsome face.

“Look, I’m pretty sure I told you guys,” Maxx began, still rubbing the bruising mark on his left cheek, “that we don’t die. And by the way Nyx, I gotta say, that right hook of yours definitely improved from—”

“Thanks for the compliment, but let’s not fucking forget that I— _we—_ mourned for you, you asshole,” Nyx seethed between his teeth. “But yeah, thanks. You could’ve at least called.”

“Or text,” Libertus added. “That couldn’t have hurt. Like, ‘Hi guys, I’m not dead’ would’ve been great.”

Maxx looked as if he had been sucker punched this time around. “I’m… really sorry I upset you guys. I really am,” he said with all the heartfelt sincerity that he could muster. “It’s just… how do I put this… I was—“

“Out in the beyond. Pardoned by Ramuh, obviously. Regenerated in a short span of time, granted you your old body back,” Whiskey intervened to expound on Maxx’s train of thought. He nodded in agreement. “Anyway,” Whiskey continued, “speaking of bodies…”

Whiskey sheepishly turned to Johanna, who has not said a word since they all sat down. Everyone looked at her expectantly. Primly placing her hands on the table, she answered, “At this point, I’m afraid I do not have the answer to your predicament, Hestia.”

Whiskey purred sadly, “It’s fine—“

“So you’re a Messenger, too.”

The table fell oddly silent. All eyes were trained on Briony. She did not realize quick enough that her thoughts finally materialized into words, and that it was _her_ who actually spoke it.

Johanna leaned forward, and the gray and stern features of her face creased into a gentle yet rueful smile. “Briony, I’m sorry if I didn’t tell you. I—"

“Oh no, Johanna… I understand,” Briony consoled. “I mean, it’s your secret to tell. And I respect that—we all have our fair share of things we keep to ourselves. Though I must say, knowing what you are now… sort of explains a lot of things.”

Head tilted and brows raised out of curiosity, Johanna asked in return, “How so?”

Briony never really had the chance to ponder over Johanna’s eccentricities during the course of her part-time work in the library. While it was true that there were things that Briony pretended _not_ to notice with her former boss’s strange prowess—such as recounting several accounts of history with terrifying accuracy and detail—she only felt that the most rational explanation for that was Johanna simply wielded exceptional knowledge on the subject. Besides, Briony may seem to exhibit inquisitiveness beyond measure, but she was too intimidated to directly ask how Johanna knew all sorts of things that varied from different periods of time.

But knowing Johanna’s true nature now felt like a switch had been rightfully clicked.

“Because, well _—_ ” Briony began to explain _—_ “this is quite a big ass library...” She stopped for a split second, realizing the manner of which she had spoken to Johanna, a person she held in such high regard. Seeing that Johanna did not seem to mind, Briony gingerly smiled as she pressed on. “Uh, yeah, pardon my language. Anyway. As I was saying, you seem to know a lot about everything. Like, specific pages and records without even looking at your terminal. Reading out loud certain passages from old texts in verbatim… I mean, photographic memory aside, that’s nothing short of unworldly.”

“An astute observation.” Johanna smiled, pleased and seemingly proud. “Expected nothing less from someone who was raised by Cor, let alone someone who spent most of their formative years in Tenebrae at the presence of the High Messenger herself.”

“Huh, so now that you’ve mentioned the matter regarding our dearly beloved Gentiana…” Maxx mulled out loud, leaning back against the chair with his hands behind his head, forcing Whiskey to jump off his shoulder and onto the table. The cat gracefully relaxed and curled in front of Johanna as Maxx went on, “It makes a lot of sense why I thought I felt a faint presence like hers back in Galahd. Looks like it was just you all along, Ronnie.”

“Uh, what does that even mean?” Briony asked, undoubtedly confused.

“What Maxx means is that you…” Whiskey trailed off, her ears perked up and her tail flicking back and forth. “Uh, I don’t have a spot on explanation for this, but relating this in my experience as a cat, it’s like… when a human’s scent is all different just because they played with a dog? I’m sort of poor at coming up with appropriate metaphors. Johanna, a little help here—"

“There’s a certain truth to that, so to speak,” Johanna agreed. “But to put it in context, what Maxwell and Hestia are trying to say is that we’re highly spiritual beings. We can sense our kind, one way or the other—to the extent of sensing even a slightest hint of their influence, regardless if we are at our weakest. Which would explain why they sensed the High Messenger with you around, and the same fashion that Hestia found our presence here and was able to follow its track.”

Licking a paw and scratching an ear, Whiskey muttered, “Though as nifty as that may sound for us, it doesn’t explain yet how I’m completely unable to transform back to my human form.”

“A small price to pay for your transfiguration skills,” Maxx teased.

Whiskey hotly retorted, “I hope you don’t forget that I still have my claws. And fire.”

Deliberately ignoring the banter between Whiskey and Maxx, Johanna regarded Briony and the rest of the Glaives. “Anyway. So... you’re all taking this quite calmly.”

Knowing looks were exchanged amongst the Glaives, followed by a painful pause.

It was Briony who had the gall to respond. “Not really… well, yes. A bit. I think after meeting Maxx and Whiskey—uh, Hestia—I don’t know exactly how to be surprised anymore with these kinds of things.”

Crowe added, “Well, Ronnie’s got a point. After all that’s happened… I feel like anything’s possible.”

Pelna added even further, “And to be fair, Johanna—to begin with, I already think you’re marvellously way out of this world.”

“Is that so? Is this your way to try to appease me, Mr. Khara?” Johanna asked flatly.

Nyx and Libertus were at the edge of bursting out in laughter, but Crowe, who sat in between them, discreetly elbowed them on their sides. They suppressed the pain and choked it with a forced smile.

Meanwhile, Pelna only beamed confidently, “Not at all, ma’am. Simply telling the truth.”

“Right.” Johanna nodded approvingly. “Thank you for patronizing an old woman such as myself. However, I must apologize... for acting rather harshly earlier.”

Maxx laughed. _“Harsh_ is an understatement, Johanna. You weren’t shitting around when you said you’re going to wipe them out of existence. You were _this close_ to summoning—”

“Which is why I am here expressing my deepest regret for such crude behaviour, Maxwell. So if I may?”

Maxx quickly nodded. “Carry on.”

Johanna faced the Glaives. “So if you would permit me to start over and reintroduce myself: Johanna Valens, Messenger of the Bladekeeper. Sworn to watch over the royal family. My talents include… knowing a lot of things. Except the future.”

“That’s one way to look at your _many_ arsenal of skills,” Whiskey quipped. To the Glaives, she mewed, “She’s kind of omniscient.”

"And if I was, I would know the thoughts of every single organism in this universe, and I would end up going insane. So thankfully, I do not have that power. Only the gods can claim omniscience, Hestia,” Johanna strongly countered, “which is why it's the _only_ way I’d like to look at what I can do.” She steered her attention back to the Glaives. “And again, I’m genuinely sorry.”

“Nah, Johanna. It’s fine,” Libertus offered. “The way I see it, you were only looking out for each other. Kind of like your survival instinct, I guess.”

Johanna nodded agreeably at Libertus. “You surprise me, that’s quite insightful of you.”

Libertus shrugged. Then Nyx added, “Well, to be honest, we’re kind of used to being scared of you, Johanna. The whole thing earlier just gave us a brand new reason why we _really_ should be scared of you.”

Maxx bellowed a laugh. “Well, you really should be!”

“Maxwell.” Johanna sneered Maxx’s name like a curse with a firm smile. His face winced.

“Sorry,” Maxx dutifully apologized, then mouthed at the rest of the Glaives, _But you really should be._

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask this…” Briony hesitantly interrupted, briefly ending the brimming fanfare between Maxx and the Glaive crew. She turned to Whiskey and asked, “I saw my mother and Pryna in a dream… and she told me to find you, Hestia. Would you happen to know why?”

Whiskey glanced furtively at Johanna, then back at Briony. “Um, about Candela… well, she’s—“

“Hold up,” Maxx cut in, violently waving a hand to get everyone’s attention back. “Candela Clark? Like, _our_ Candela?” His whole burly body pivoted to the direction of Johanna with scalding interest that his chair squeaked. “Late Queen Sylva's adviser? As in the Infernian’s one and only Circe—“

_Circe?_

Before Briony could even entertain another intriguing discovery, a strange thing unfolded right before her eyes that even the rest of her Glaive companions were taken aback: tension suddenly simmered amongst the Messenger trio. Whiskey hissed wildly at Maxx, and Johanna’s eyes hardened at the mention of her mother’s name that she swiveled to face Maxx with a challenging glare.

Briony watched and waited for someone to answer the hanging question until she could wait no longer.

“So it’s okay for me to assume that you all know who my mom is.” Briony straightened in her seat, face furrowed to an alarming seriousness.

“Now that explains the _other thing,”_ Maxx suddenly noted, folding his arms over his chest, as if their wordless argument was ultimately settled into thin air. “Now I feel so dumb I wasn't able to put two and two together. Not only do you smell like her, you’re quite _like her._ And for the record, I don’t just _know_ Candela. For the love of Ramuh, after Johanna here, that woman is the other person I would never dare cross. Ever. Ask Johanna, she knows everything there is to know.”

As if anticipating her reaction, Johanna and Whiskey were both staring at Briony, both their faces shared an unsettling concern, a diluted kind of sadness.

It was this moment that a realization dawned on Briony, like a slow unraveling.

Looking back on the days she had spent in Tenebrae, Briony never quite understood her mother's fondness on the topic of Messengers, nor could she grasp the depth of longing in her voice whenever she talked about it. She would only feel sad, too—but never quite knowing why she _felt_ sad. At some point, Briony’s juvenile curiosity brought her to probe on her mother’s past, only to be met with a teasing smile and another magical tale of exploits to distract Briony from her sudden interest. All Briony understood as a child was that her mother loved her more than she loved herself, that she valued Briony’s happiness than her own, and she expressed it in a way that she made ordinary things like doing homework or reading a story together seem so extraordinary.

Perhaps the notion had been buried somewhere at the back of Briony’s mind, or perhaps she had known it all along, but she wished she had paid more attention. She wished she made more effort to get to know her mother even better. To love her even harder than she was capable of. But right now, in this slow, burning unraveling, her mother's absence was a gaping hole, hollower than ever before.

And Johanna and Whiskey and Maxx… their reactions only served as a confirmation rather than a revelation of what she felt like she had known all this time.

So out of the slideshow of questions she had been listing and playing repeatedly on her mind, the next words that stumble out of Briony’s mouth was this:

“She’s one of you, isn’t she?”

With a sad smile, Johanna affirmed. “Indeed, she is.”

Whiskey padded forward and approached Briony as she followed through, “We’re… both created by Ifrit, Candela and I. She’s, well, more a handful than I am, but we’ve been looking for each other for centuries, ever since we were separated by that… fight. And then you came to Galahd, and I thought she found me… Oh Briony, surely if she appeared in a dream—with Pryna no less—I could only ascertain that she’s...”

“Alive?”

Whiskey looked up at Briony with her big green eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just know.”

For a moment, Briony quietly savoured that relief, as if a boulder had been lifted off her chest.

_My mom’s alive._

And all at once, like an itch she had been wanting to scratch, Briony exhaled one breathless question after another: “Does the Empire have her?”

This time, it was Johanna who answered: “I’m afraid not.”

“Then would you know where she is?”

Johanna's voice was strained with hesitation. “I… don’t know.”

“But you can sense your own kind, right? Will you be able to find her?”

Johanna pursed her lips, looking away. She did not answer.

Briony pleaded. “Whiskey? Maxx?”

Both of them avoided Briony’s gaze.

Her frustration flared. She rose to her feet. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me? Johanna, you said you know things.”

Somewhere on Briony’s side, Crowe begged, “Briony, calm down—”

“Will you at least tell me what happened to her?” Briony demanded, fists clenched and eyes burning hot with unspilled tears.

“Briony, I’m sorry, I really am.” Johanna shook her head. “I wish I could tell you, but there are things that I’m not at liberty to say, and it is not my place, it is only hers—”

"But is it not _my_ place to know? It's my mother we're talking about here, for fuck's sake!" Briony cried, slamming a fist so hard on the table that her knuckles bruised. She looked at Johanna, whose face remained unfazed and un-startled, but in her eyes reflected a pain she could not name. Then she turned to look at Crowe and Pelna and Libertus and Nyx, who were all gaping at her for her sudden outburst.

No one said another word.

“I'm... I'm really sorry for being an idiot. If you’ll all excuse me.” Briony stormed off, leaving the rest of the group in an awfully unbearable silence. The relief of knowing that her mother’s alive only swelled and turned sour at the pit of her stomach.

 

* * *

 

The morning that followed, Briony woke up in a particularly foul mood. She had a lingering feeling that she had another dream again that involved Tenebrae and her mother, yet she could not exactly remember the details of it. Nevertheless, it only invoked the memory of what had transpired in the library the night before, and the memory of the fruitless conversation with Johanna still vexed her to no end.

Before her foul mood blossomed into a seething rage, Briony hauled herself out of bed. And before she could even bring herself to brew a good cup of joe to wash away the sickening feeling of her fury, her phone chimed incessantly on her bedside table.

On top of her other notifications, a flurry of text messages greeted her, one after another:

_Worst glaive ever 10:01 AM hey, would you mind looking out your window for me?_

_Worst glaive ever 10:01 AM please?_

_Worst glaive ever 10:02 AM Pretty please? Brie cheese?_

_Worst glaive ever 10:02 AM Brie cheese? Don’t make me call you_

_Worst glaive ever 10:02 AM in 5...4...3..._

Something about Nyx’s texts doused the flames of Briony’s fury. Instead, it was only replaced by a vivid replay of that particular night she kissed Nyx, which introduced a more irritating sensation of nervousness that made her heart race.

As cautiously as she could, Briony peeked through the window right beside her bed. And four floors below, she easily spied Nyx standing in front of her building.

_Son of a bitch._

Briony called Nyx’s number. She stealthily observed Nyx as he picked up after the first ring.

“What in the world are you doing here?”

 _“I came here to see you,”_ Nyx said, looking up and searching for that window where Briony was. _“Look, you weren’t answering any of our messages or calls last night. Crowe was really worried. I just wanted to check in on you.”_

“Right. Then I’m happy to report that I’m okay, and that if you must know, your white hoodie looks comfy.”

Nyx laughed. _“Huh, so you’re checking me out from up there. Didn’t know you were such a creep, Brie Cheese.”_

“Shut up.” Briony groaned. “I hate you.”

 _“I hate you, too. So, where art thou, Juliet?”_ Nyx snickered, still persistently waiting for Briony to show herself.

After a moment of painful consideration, Briony pushed her window open and leaned out. “Up here, hero!” She waved at Nyx. His head swung up to her direction. Even from afar, Briony watched how his face brightened into that smile as he waved back. She said over the phone, “I’ll be in the lobby in a minute.”

Nonplussed and with absolutely no regard to her current appearance, Briony hurried down the flight of stairs in her short shorts and oversized black shirt with a bold print that screamed _Girls just want to have fundamental rights._ The only thing she had any decency to fix was her messed up bun that she primly tied into a neat ponytail.

Nyx was chatting up with the concierge and possibly charming their pants off when Briony got downstairs. By way of greeting, she said, “Now that you can see me up close, mission accomplished?”

Nyx pretended not to see Briony, then slowly turned to face her. He flashed a wildly teasing grin. “Oh hey, I didn’t see you there. Hi.”

Briony rolled her eyes. “Nyx, it’s too early for me to commit murder, so let’s not do that. Anyway, now that you’ve seen that I’m okay, see you around bye—”

“Hey, wait up!” Briony was already marching back when Nyx whirled in front of her. “My business here is not done yet. I’m also here to offer you a good distraction.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“I want to show you something. But you have to come with me.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Briony grumbled and crossed her arms. “Is this one of those stupid pranks again? ‘Cause I swear, I’m not really in the mood to—”

“Briony, look at me.” Nyx raised his hands, as if to prove that he was completely harmless. “This is nothing shady, I promise.”

Briony narrowed her eyes at Nyx, intensely studying him from head to toe and back to his awfully pretty face, like critically assessing a potentially dangerous fugitive and this offer that he had suddenly presented her.

As she surmised, the only thing dangerous here was Nyx’s face and the way he was looking at her now.

Briony held his gaze and a smug smirk crossed Nyx’s face. “You like what you see?”

“Honestly, no.” Briony hummed, lying through her teeth. “So. You wanna go, like right now?”

Nyx nodded.

“But I haven’t even showered yet,” Briony blurted out. “I thought you were just stopping by.”

“Then I’ll wait here for you.” Nyx shrugged, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “I’m pretty good at waiting.”

“Okay, um. Fifteen minutes, and I’ll be right back.”

 

 

Apparently, the thing Nyx wanted to show Briony was, in fact, not a thing—but a place.

Right in the heart of the hectic and hustling Central Avenue, squeezed in between a lofty business center and a five-star hotel, was a small, old cafe named Varma’s.

And inside, Briony was immediately greeted by a distinct fragrance of old books and sweet coffee, a soft, familiar tune, and a gathering of things both old and new.

From floor to ceiling, Varma’s oozed with aesthetic charm and reeked with uncommon luxuries. Each corner was a treasure trove of little wonders: stacked walls of hardcovers and paperbacks, crates of vinyl records, shelves of candles and journals, potted plants and postcards, maps and movies, and more dusty book piles. The place was empty of people yet abundant with unique obsessions, save for the woman behind the counter that housed an espresso machine and an array of handmade pastries.

“What’s up, Adrika,” Nyx greeted, and the woman turned around. She wore a red apron with a flashy _Kiss the chef!_ over a white long-sleeved shirt, but Briony could not deny that as simple as the woman’s attire may seem, her cinnamon-kissed skin, red-stained lips, pierced nose, and big, brown eyes made her a bloody masterpiece in disguise. Briony was almost certain the woman could rock her current plain-shirt-and-jeans get up like it was meant for high fashion.

“Hey, long time no see, Nyx!” The woman beamed, flashing a picture perfect smile. She flipped her wavy, jet-black hair and leaned over the counter, propping her beautiful face on her chin. She regarded both Nyx and Briony with a sly smirk. “Wow, first time I saw you here with a date, pretty boy. Who’s this lovely lady right here?”

Nyx gestured, “Briony, meet Adrika. Adrika, Briony.”

“Hey.” Briony smiled. Adrika wiped her hands on her apron and reached out to Briony for a handshake. They shook hands but immediately withdrew with a flinch.

“Ooh, sparks!” Adrika giggled. Briony only smiled at her. “That oughta be a good sign. Anyway!” She excitedly clapped her hands, “Welcome to Varma’s! Well… I won’t be doing my customer spiel since it’s just you guys, and Nyx is one of our usuals, so yeah. Enjoy looking around. Oh and you two don’t do anything nasty back there or I will have my brother butcher you,” Adrika promptly noted.

“Don’t worry, the only nasty thing I’ll probably do with this guy is murder, but I’ll make sure I’ll clean it up,” Briony quipped back with a thumbs-up.

“Okay, I like you already.” Adrika grinned. “Meanwhile, you guys want anything while you look around? Coffee, tea, or me?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Nyx said.

“Me, too.” Briony nodded. “Thanks, Adrika.”

As they ventured deep into the wilderness of racks and shelves, Briony quietly led the exploration while Nyx closely followed. The floorboards creaked beneath her with their every step, and with every cover and spine that piqued her interest, she held her breath and marvelled in silence.

“I didn’t know a place like this existed in the city,” Briony whispered, taking out a hardbound book from the shelf. She dusted its cover and smiled, almost entirely to herself. “To be honest, this reminds me of your house back in Galahd.”

“Exactly why I love it here,” Nyx plucked a random book from a higher shelf. The cover showed a half-illustration of a graying, bearded man. He playfully covered his mouth with the book and said, “This is the closest thing I have of home here in Insomnia.”

Briony shook her head and laughed. On and on they went, hopping from one lane to another, with Briony briefly leafing through the pages of every book that caught her eye, and with Nyx trying to find a book or vinyl record with the silliest cover to masquerade for Briony.

“You know, I can’t believe you had no idea about Varma's.” As they walked to the far end of the row, Nyx found a record exhibiting an angry artist with his fists close to his head on its cover. He held it over his face as he sheepishly continued with a poor gangster impression, “I was assuming your boyfriend took you here at some point.”

Briony stopped and stared at Nyx. “I beg your pardon— _b_ _oyfriend?”_

Nyx slowly dropped the cover and returned it to the rack, looking away from Briony. “Uh, Gladio?”

Briony stepped closer and cleared her throat. “Okay, first of all: he’s not my boyfriend, he's my best friend, meaning he's just my boy with-a-very-distinct-space-in-the-middle friend. And two: I do remember that he mentioned this place to me. I just…” Briony sighed, exasperated. “I’m... not a big fan of this city, so he didn’t pursue the idea of getting me out of my apartment.”

“Right.”

“Besides, if I had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have kissed you. Just saying.”

“Right…” It took awhile for Nyx to let that thought marinate before he snapped back. “Huh, wait a sec—”

Before he knew it, Briony had already disappeared around the corner and onto the next lane. By the time Nyx caught up with her, she was already poring over another book, her face suddenly mired with unwanted nostalgia. She was half-hoping for Nyx to continue the conversation where she left it off to distract her from the sudden sadness that surged inside her. Instead, she could feel Nyx watching her, and she sort of wished that she would not tear up in front of him.

It was not difficult to see that Briony was intensely battling with her thoughts when the book she was holding was something that strongly reminded her of her mother.

“I had the first edition of this book back in Tenebrae,” Briony mumbled. “Pablo Neruda’s _1_ _00 Love Sonnets._ My mom was so obsessed with reading me these things to put me to sleep.” She wistfully shook her head and forcefully swallowed a sob. “She loved this line so much. _‘I_ _love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride_ _—’”_

 _“‘I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this,’”_ Nyx recited the lines by memory, slowly making his way over to Briony in such careful steps. _"‘In which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.’”_

“Impressive.” Briony cracked a small smile. “Sometimes, I just can’t believe you.”

Nyx ran a hand through his hair. Briony saw him hesitating, like words were rising up inside him that he could not get out. In the cramped space soaked in their silence and the melody that ached in the background, Briony patiently waited. And eventually Nyx gently offered with uncertainty: “You know… not that I’m prying or anything but, if you want to, you can talk to me about it.”

Briony sighed. “It’s fine, I—”

“Don’t say that.” His voice was firm and steady, yet so full of affection. “You and I both know it’s not fine.”

Briony leaned back on the shelf, her palms carefully pressing on the powdery ledge, worried that she might tip over the entire thing. She regarded Nyx, and with another sigh, she admitted, “I just… really miss her so much. And I know I was hard on Johanna last night, and that I owe her a proper apology.” Briony turned away, fiddling at the spines. "But it just sucks sometimes, being outrightly refused of help."

“Hey.” Nyx wheeled around to see her face and gently held her by the shoulders. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and said, “You got _us._ I know it isn't exactly comforting that our heavenly buddies may not be open to cooperate, and that we mere mortals may not be much, but we're on your side. At least we know she’s _alive._ And I think that's something to be hopeful for.”

Another silence. Briony wanted to say something, only she could not decide on what to say next. Nyx was standing so close to her that the words she was saving for him was lost in a void, and that the smell of his faint perfume and the hint of peppermint that she had once tasted on his lips was a fucking terrible distraction. But Nyx was only leaning closer, and Briony could not stop how her heart was pounding violently against her chest.

In a low voice, Nyx whispered, “May I?”

Briony could not stand it any longer.

So when Nyx kissed her, it felt like a thousand thundering warp-kills per hour, the adrenaline rushing through her veins in a combat drill, fiery and dangerous. It felt like chills on the spine on a new-found pop song, goosebumps on a plot twist, warmth on a cold night. It felt like running out of metaphors and struggling to find the right language to put this moment into words. So instead, she let her hands do the talking, allowing it to wander through his hair, his chest, the crook of his neck. And in return, she let him kiss her until he could memorize the way their lips danced against each other.

Breathlessly, she pulled away, shaking her head with a smile that she could not wipe off of her face. “What the hell are we doing?”

“What’s wrong?” Nyx pressed his forehead against hers.

Briony bit her lip, trying to stifle the bubbling laughter. “We’re kissing and… we’re supposed to hate each other, Nyx Ulric.”

Nyx cupped her face and smiled. “Too bad, because I don’t really hate you, Briony Clark. Not once, not ever.”

 

 

Briony’s tiny excursion with Nyx ended up at Yamachang’s later that evening.

Though met with raised eyebrows and senseless hooting from Pelna and Libertus, Nyx and Briony casually took their seats beside their friends like nothing happened.

Crowe, however, was difficult to fool. She narrowed her eyes at Nyx, and then at Briony.

Seemingly letting go of any suspicion, Crowe asked Ronnie the usual thing she always asked in her most motherly way as possible: “How’re you doing?”

Pelna slid a bottle of beer over Briony. She only answered Crowe in all honesty: “I’m fine. I promise.”

“Hey, we’re all here for you, alright?” Libertus assured. “We’ll help you figure this one out, like we always do.”

“Yeah, and there's gotta be another way,” Pelna agreed in between bites of his skewers. “But for now, enough about that. Our break’s almost over, and let’s just savour this good food while we’re at it.”

Briony turned to Nyx, and they both shared a smile. Here with the company of her friends, and here with Nyx’s hands laced with hers under the table, Briony figured that maybe, she would be okay. Maybe, for tonight, this moment was enough. And that she was not alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for this long overdue chapter brought to you by me and my lame, overcritical ass. And to all of you who are still sticking around after this, I LOVE U AND THANK YOU SO MUCH.  
>   
>  
> 
> In other news, Johanna Valens' POV is the next chapter so she could hopefully clarify some shit. So to tide you over, here's my mental image of my hardcore, no-nonsense woman for y'all:  
> 


	16. The Draconian's Keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part of this chapter directly follows the events from the epilogue of [Thermodynamics.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12136287/chapters/28143039)

In the beginning, Bahamut the Draconian took a fragment of his mind, molded it into being, and called her Minerva.

Certainly, Minerva was not the sole divine creature crafted by one of the Six—there were twenty-three more others like her, all of them bound and connected by the powers of the gods. They were quite a lot to be sure, but each of them came into existence by different means: if the Draconian forged life into Minerva from his intellect, Ramuh, the Fulgurian, summoned thunder and lightning. Shiva, the Glacian, breathed essence to her own with frost; Ifrit, the Infernian, tempered his with fire. Leviathan, the Hydraean, drew from water. Titan, the Archaean, sculpted the earth. When the Six saw all that they made, they called them Messengers—unearthly beings designed to commune the divine will of the gods to mortals.

And all was good.

Minerva assumed the appearance of that of an elderly woman: silver hair tightly knotted in a high bun, world-weary blue eyes hiding behind a pair of thinly framed glasses, altogether elegantly fearsome and wise. She was distinctly different from her lovable canine counterparts Pryna and Umbra, or from her less lovable counterparts such as Haikili, son of Ramuh, who was blonde and brawny and beaming; or even from Circe, daughter of Ifrit, who was redheaded and riotous and riveting.

Minerva’s powers were distinctly different, too. She possessed the ability to perceive past and present events; she was both a witch who could conjure and manipulate any memory in existence, and a priestess who could command absolute annihilation in a blink of an eye. Not once did Minerva display any physical prowess for fighting, but she knew perfectly well that time was her ally; her mind, her sword and shield.

Which was why Minerva was particularly fascinated with the abilities of her fellow Messengers. There was Kuraokami, son of Shiva, a mage of snow and swords. Brahma and Aranyani, twin son and daughter of Titan, were harbingers of both creation and destruction of the earth. Thalassa, daughter of Leviathan, was a summoner of tides. Haikili was a commander of storms. Circe was a sorceress of fire and disguise. So was Hestia, another daughter of Ifrit—though she preferred to shapeshift into animals rather than the art of human impersonation, a subject that often led to a number of Hestia and Circe’s episodes of senseless bickering.

All their magical powers aside, Minerva lived harmoniously and inconspicuously along with mankind in her corporeal form, just like the rest of her kin. When Ifrit bestowed the knowledge of fire to humans, the Messengers took part in tending lands and building cities, breaking bread and sharing mead with mortals somewhere in between. It was a promising start, though riddled with its ups and downs. For Minerva, this was how she first saw the fragility of humanity: humans were highly susceptible to fear and doubt, and they often feel distraught or discouraged at the first sign of failure.

Yet in the verge of their darkest moments, this was also how Minerva first witnessed the strength of humanity: even at their lowest point, humans have the capacity to challenge their limitations and to push their boundaries. It was during these times that humans showed a resilience that earned the admiration of the gods; a resolve that gained the respect of the Messengers.

And it was during these times that Minerva found herself becoming many things for mortals: an adviser, guardian, friend. She was in awe of all the beautiful things that they could create, the scientific discoveries they could uncover, and the architectural marvels that they could build on what eventually became Solheim—mankind’s bastion of technological advancements.

However, the same hands that created beautiful things also carried the monstrosity of human greed. Drunk in glory and obsessed with greatness, Solheim reached the zenith of their hubris, challenging the gods who blessed them with the knowledge they shamelessly take pride on, seeking greater heights of power. This should not have been a surprise, thought Minerva. After all, the gods fashioned man after their own image—who’s to stop them from wanting to rule the heavens?

And just as Minerva watched humanity’s ascent to success, she also witnessed the world’s descent to ruin. Betrayed by the people he loved, Ifrit unleashed his fire and fury towards mankind, seeking to destroy the very civilization birthed by his flames; betrayed by one of their own, the rest of the gods, whose common purpose was always to safeguard and protect Eos even from each other, turned their backs on Ifrit and waged war to quell the flames of his wrath.

Meanwhile, as the battle razed the lands, the Messengers were catapulted into conflict and disarray. Most of them doubtfully remained, while some had forsaken humanity altogether. The once amiable Kuraokami turned cold and bitter, while the calm and collected Thalassa became turbulent. Haikili went rogue.

None of them had expected both Circe and Hestia to stay. None of them had also expected for Minerva to leave.

Minerva wondered if Circe and Hestia’s decision was only to atone for Ifrit’s actions. Even so, she could not bring herself to stay for the wretchedness of mortals, not when a part of her understood the motivations of the Infernian. She was staunchly convinced that humans were not worth their time, that they should be on their own.

It only took a young woman’s life to change Minerva’s mind.

Because when Minerva was shoved out of the way of falling debris from what used to be the illustrious Costlemark Tower by a woman she had not met, she could not fathom the depth of selflessness that was granted upon her. Her relief and gratitude was washed away by an overwhelming sense of her guilt and remorse. Because Minerva knew what she was capable of. It was supposed to be her doing this act of saving, and not this frail and fragile human of a woman.

So with her feeble strength, Minerva pulled the woman’s body out of the ruins. But she was too late.

Minerva had been certain that the gods did not fashion them the same way they did with humans, that they were crafted not for love nor loss, not for family, but solely for duty and responsibility.

Minerva had never been so wrong.

Because there she was, wrecked by a sudden wave of grief. She had not cried before, but for this woman, she wept.

And so with all the power bestowed upon her, Minerva replayed the woman’s memories in her mind and saw the kind of life she led. Just like Minerva, she was a guardian, an adviser, a friend.

And in those memories, she found the woman’s name.

_Johanna Valens._

Perhaps it was atonement, or a cruel reminder Minerva wanted to carry for the rest of her immortal days, but she remembered Johanna Valens by wearing the name as if it had been her own.

 

* * *

 

Centuries later, in the midst of a bright afternoon, Johanna Valens had met with one Candela Clark.

The Citadel library had been different that time: less shelves, more people. But that particular day, the library had been empty when a redheaded woman waltzed into the foyer and stopped in front of Johanna’s reception desk.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Johanna Valens?”

“How can I help you...” Johanna looked up from the journal she was reading and turned to the woman, whose blood red lips curled into a pleasant smile. Johanna paused, adjusting her glasses, studying the woman’s face before she found her voice. Almost too stiffly, she greeted, “Lady Candela Clark. What brings you here in… Insomnia?”

“I apologize for catching you off guard.” Candela smiled again. “Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” Johanna nodded, closing the journal shut and returning it to her drawer. She stood and went out of her desk, ushering Candela to follow her on one of the leather couches. Johanna gestured for Candela to take a seat. As Johanna sat down next to Candela, she said, “You’re quite far from home, my lady.”

“Oh stop it with the courtesies, Johanna.” Candela waved a diffident hand. “I must admit, Johanna’s quite an interesting name to live by these days.”

“As do you, Lady Candela.” Johanna eyed Candela sternly and smiled. “I think Circe suits you much better.”

“I could say the same with you, Minerva.”

Candela’s smile widened into a grin. She wrapped Johanna into a tight embrace, one Johanna returned most ardently.

“I missed you so,” Candela said under her breath.

“Likewise.” Johanna squeezed Candela a bit firmer. After choosing to live a life solely at the service of Bahamut and the royal family, Johanna was starting to realize how it had been so long since she had this kind of interaction with someone _like her,_ that the loneliness of the last centuries began to weigh heavy. As she pulled away, Johanna asked, “So. How may I be of service to you?”

“Straight to the point as always.” Candela laughed. “Would it be so wrong to visit family?”

“Really now? After all this time, you still have not changed. You cannot fool me with your wily charms.”

“That’s too bad.” Candela cheekily rolled her eyes. Leaning on the side of the couch with an elbow propped on the headrest, Candela rested her head on her hand as she considered Johanna. “By the way, have you seen the others these last couple of years?”

“I see the twins from time to time,” Johanna noted, which was a half-lie. She only happened to know what they had been up to. “They have acclimated quite well in the city, tending to their little cafe.”

Candela nodded with a rueful smile. “That sounds a lot like something they would enjoy.”

Johanna quietly regarded Candela for a moment. As if treading on thin ice, Johanna carefully guessed: “This is about Hestia, is it?”

The grim look on Candela’s face was enough confirmation.

“I’m sorry.” Johanna shook her head. “I’m… unable to sense her anywhere. Or _see_ her, for that matter. I’m certain she will turn up sooner or later.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she conferred. “With the Pyreburner gone, it would be difficult for Hestia to restore her form…”

Johanna hesitated on what to say next. She let the solemn silence permeate between them for a while, before she introduced a subject that had been bothering her ever since Cor arrived from his assignment in Tenebrae...

“Now that you’re here… let’s talk about the other elephant in the room.”

Candela eyed her curiously. “And by this other elephant, you mean—“

“Cor Leonis.”

Johanna was expecting for Candela to show any violent reaction. Instead, she was only met with a playful smirk.

Candela crossed her legs and primly fixed the non-existent crease on her olive dress. “So what of him?”

“Since you’re feigning ignorance, I’ll have you know that you’re all over his scent. And by _all over,_ I mean—”

“Oh yes, alright, I get the drift.” Candela retorted, unable to hold her bubbling laughter. “So. Does he know about you?”

“He only knows me as the head librarian of this… poor thing they call a library,” Johanna quickly replied, but then she returned the question to Candela. “I should be the one asking you _that_ question—does he know about you?”

“Only as Queen Sylva’s loyal adviser.” Candela’s warm smile froze into a stone-cold seriousness. “Look Johanna, I won’t beat around the bush. I’m... here to ask a favour.”

“Well, that’s new. You usually make demands.”

“Not this time.”

“Is this about Cor? I’m telling you, Candela, I won’t help you with your amorous affairs with humans—”

“Cor is not just an affair.” Her words were icy, but the telltale burn in Candela’s eyes and the sudden spike in the room’s temperature betrayed her fiery nature. “And it’s not about him. It’s about my daughter.”

Johanna gaped at Candela, as if she had just said some form of blasphemy against the Six. “A _daughter?_ How—”

“Johanna, this is no time for us to be polite,” Candela interrupted and reached out for Johanna’s hand. “Replay my memories, if you will.”

Johanna regarded Candela, a look of concern wrinkling her austere face. Unlike mortals, she was well aware how it was far difficult navigating the mind of her kin.

With much hesitation, Johanna firmly held Candela’s hand.

And all at once, time stopped. Before her, Candela was as still as a marble sculpture. Motes of dust suspended in the air, shards of afternoon light piercing from the glass windows ceased to ripple. The room was thick with silence.

Then with a breath of a command, Johanna summoned flashes of memory that were not her own.

Time finally surged forward and backward, swift and relentless. Like an old film reel, Johanna watched a series of images flicker in her mind: the early days of Lucis, the snowy landscape of a winter’s night in Gralea, the rich palette of blues and pinks of a summer’s day in Tenebrae. The young faces of the Sylva and Sophia Via Fleuret. The wounded face of a lost and powerless Circe. How the Fleuret sisters saved and helped Circe, and how they gave her the name Candela. How Candela treasured their gracious gesture and swore an oath to protect them for the rest of her eternity. How Candela loved Sophia, and how Sophia loved her.

Then came the Empire.

The images that followed arrived in a violent flurry of bits and pieces, blurred by smoke and flame. The more Johanna saw, the less she understood. A rescue mission, a parting wish, a painful promise. A newborn child with oddly-paired eyes. A young girl’s laughter. A smiling Cor Leonis. Johanna had expected that the deeper she delved into Candela’s subconsciousness, she would be met by an aggressive resistance, but what she faced was the same frightening fire and fury of the Infernian.

Johanna blinked.

“Candela…” She trailed off. Johanna contemplated on the questions she had wanted to ask Candela, but the right words were nebulous in the weary state of her mind. Also, she felt awful. Whereas Johanna had spent the last millennia serving the royal family in utmost safety and comfort, Candela was going through extreme lengths to fulfill a duty they have always been designed to do.

After a strained silence, Candela spoke. “If you must know, Sophia was not an amorous affair, either.”

“I know,.” Johanna nodded, holding Candela’s hand even firmer. “You love too fiercely. You always do.”

Eyes downcast, Candela sadly smiled, letting go of Johanna’s hand. “A blessing and a curse.”

“Though colour me impressed—you raising a human child is the last thing I expected,” Johanna gently admitted.

“So did I.”

“Though her being raised by you, I could only foresee trouble.”

“A bit, yes.” Candela’s lighthearted laughter bristled with warmth and affection. “But she’s a wonderful girl, I promise.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t get your temper.”

“That I cannot promise.” Candela grinned. “But Johanna,” she added, the tone of her voice echoing a quiet plea, “Should your paths cross with Briony, I only ask that you don’t mention this to her. This… meeting. And that you won’t show her the past. Let me be the one to tell her the truth about everything. About me.”

This time, Johanna warily considered Candela. If anything, Johanna had a good grasp of how difficult Candela was to read—she was always two steps ahead, always calculating, always battle-ready. If there was anyone among the Messengers who could keep up with Johanna's lightning mind, and possibly, outwit her, Candela would be the only one up to the task.

Johanna probed, “What exactly are you up to?”

“Doing everything in my power to protect the people I love. By all means necessary.”

And just like that, Johanna realized what Candela was about to do.

“Candela, there must be some other way… You don’t mean—“

“You have nothing to worry about, Johanna.” Candela made an effort to sound reassuring. “I’ll be back. But please, for Briony. I…”

Johanna took Candela’s hand. There was nothing more she could have offered, and being a woman of virtue, she only promised: “You have my word.”

 

* * *

 

Twelve years later, in the midst of a gloomy afternoon, Johanna Valens met with one Briony Clark.

The Citadel library had been different this time around: more shelves, less people. Ever since Briony chose the Kingsglaive life over the simple joys of working behind a desk, Johanna had been dealing with the insufferable forgetfulness of Charlie or Janet’s tardiness. Briony was Johanna’s most competent staff, and without her, the reception had been more painfully quiet.

But after their awful altercation days ago, Johanna thought she would never see Briony again.

Which was why Johanna was overcome with relief when Briony stopped by.

“Hi,” Briony greeted, and Johanna could hear a hint of panic in her voice. “Um. Do you have a moment?”

 _This feels a lot like déjà vu._ “Yes, darling. Of course,” Johanna smiled fondly. “How can I—”

“Uh, so I’m way overdue. It’s been busy, these past two weeks… but, um. I want to say I’m sorry. For how I acted out. I was being a hypocrite and I said a lot of really harsh things. And I understand if you can’t help me find mom.”

“Oh Briony…” Johanna left her seat and hurriedly went around her desk. She held Briony by the shoulders. “It’s alright. There's absolutely no need for you to apologize.”

Briony pursed her lips. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Go ahead.” Johanna nodded.

“Am I… did she leave because of me?" Briony's voice sounded brittle. "Like, did she not want me around anymore—”

“No, Briony. Oh no, don’t ever think that,” Johanna assured, her voice soft with affection. “Candela loves you. So very much. Our kind... we weren’t created to ever have a family. But she found one in you.”

Briony smiled faintly. “Do you think she's ever coming back?”

“She said she will.” Johanna guaranteed with conviction. “And she better be. And I swear to you, once she returns, I’ll have her pay for putting you through hell like this.”

Briony let out a small laugh. “Mom’s a tough nut to crack, so I’ll probably help you with that.”

Johanna shook her head. “You and Candela are so alike.”

“In terms of causing trouble, probably.” Briony countered with a timid smile. “I wish I had her charm and confidence, though. I feel like I could only seduce… dogs. And cats.”

“You do have her charm. You’re just not quite aware of how to use it. Let’s not mention that you have a hero wrapped around your little finger,” Johanna cheekily teased. Briony blushed furiously, but the look in her eyes when she began to speak fondly of Nyx was reminiscent of how Candela often spoke highly of Cor...

And all at once, without warning, Johanna suddenly missed Candela, and she could only feel the aching void Candela had left behind. 

 


	17. Gladiolus Amicitia

The moment Gladio got back from his morning run, he was immediately welcomed by the jarring image of Iris having breakfast with their father.

“Good, you’re finally here,” Clarus beckoned for Gladio to take a seat. The savoury scent of Jared’s bacon and waffles spilled from the kitchen and strongly lingered into their dining area. As much as it invited Gladio’s hunger, he was marred with confusion. He was supposed to take a shower, change his sweaty tank top and jersey shorts, and then feast on Jared’s cooking. But now, he could not decide on what was more disorienting: the idea that his dad was home _on a weekday,_ or the cozy white long-sleeved shirt and chino pants he was wearing.

Placing his wardrobe change on hold, Gladio gingerly sat next to Clarus. Right across the table was Iris, who was busy between furiously typing away on her laptop and snatching another bite of bread. Iris wore her hair band she saved only for her martial arts classes, which probably meant she was now in turbo mode for the Lucian Ball happening in less than a week.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Clarus poured orange juice into a glass and offered it to Gladio.

In his thirst, Gladio finished the drink in five gulps and said, “Sorry, it’s just… we don’t see you around that much lately.” He grabbed two slices of waffles and dashed a generous amount of syrup over it as he asked, “Are you on leave?”

“You could say that,” Clarus replied. “It was more like King Regis forced me to take a break.”

Gladio nodded agreeably. A part of him wondered if he should ask why King Regis was generous enough to grant his dad a day off. He speared his fork on his waffle slices and scarfed down the strips of bacon, slowly mulling over the idea.

It was tricky, talking to his dad sometimes. Bringing the subject of work into the table was what made it trickier. Even at the confines of their home, Gladio saw how his dad could not escape the weight of his duty—he was taking critical phone calls on weekends, directing negotiations until wee hours of the evening. Gladio still remembered how when Iris was younger, she would start to bawl if she would hear their dad yelling from his office. If teenage Gladio thought he had a temper, he knew the apple definitely did not fall too far from the tree because Clarus’s was off the charts. His dad could bring down the house if he wanted to. And as much as Clarus did not want to let them witness his wrath, they most certainly had heard it loud and clear.

So it was during this time that Gladio learned drastic measures to cheer up his sister. His room was off-limits, but under these circumstances, he would let Iris take over: from ransacking his bookshelf, down to letting her experiment all sorts of makeup on his face just to stop her from crying.

Clarus had often expressed his regrets for bringing his work at home from time to time. It was truly never his intention. But growing up, Gladio and Iris got used to it. They came to fully understand the nature and the burden of their father’s job. Iris had it easier, though. She was not subjected to work for their father and follow his footsteps. Gladio was.

So on most occasions, Gladio’s conversations with his dad involved figuring out whether he was speaking to Clarus, Shield of the King and Commander of the Crownsguard—or Clarus, his old man.

“So, how are things?” Clarus asked pleasantly. The eager smile on his father’s face told Gladio that this was his old man speaking. He was relieved. Then, Clarus said, “Iris has already told me quite a number already, I don’t even know where to begin...”

Gladio eyes widened at Iris, who only shot him back with an impish look. In return, he gave Iris a sinister glare. “Huh. What exactly did my _lovely_ sister say?”

Clarus laughed. “Now, now—don’t take it out on Iris. It was I who asked her to catch me up on what’s going on. It’s been a long time, I feel like I haven’t seen the both of you in years.”

“Oh Dad—“ Iris chortled between chews— “you don’t have to be so dramatic.”

“So?” Clarus was keenly interested. “What’s the 4-1-1?”

 _There we go, the millennial lingo._ Gladio snorted a laugh. This was indeed his old man talking. As much as Gladio missed this, with Iris around, he knew exactly where this conversation was going.

Gladio fearlessly resorted to the subject of work and noted, “So, it’s kind of upsetting that I’m being reassigned back to the Citadel—”

“You and I both know that’s not what I’m talking about.” It seemed chastising, but Clarus was visibly amused. With much more directness, his dad asked, “How are things with you and Amara?”

The question stung Gladio more than he could admit. Not because it was about Amara. It was because his dad, in his gentle yet subliminal way, just delivered a crushing jab that said, _Son, you can trust me with things like this._

And so Gladio told the unfortunate story of how he broke up with his longtime girlfriend, including their awkward encounter in Vivienne Westwood’s store weeks ago.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Clarus empathized. “It’s… I know how difficult it is to get people to understand what our duty demands of us.”

“Yeah, I know.” Gladio forced a smile. “But I’m fine, Dad.”

Clarus considered Gladio with a concerned look. “Now that’s the case… who are you planning to take to the gala?”

Gladio shrugged. “Well… I don’t know yet. Fly solo, maybe.”

“Seriously, Gladdy?” Iris had to pause dramatically from whatever she was doing in her laptop. She whipped her head from the screen of her computer to Gladio’s direction. She groaned, “Dad, would you please let me say the ‘i’ word?”

Clarus tried not to laugh, which was a remarkable failure. “Give your brother some room for doubt, Peanut.” He turned to Gladio. “So why not Briony? Don’t tell me you’re scared of Cor.”

“What? No, of course not…” Gladio stuttered another excuse. “Okay, I mean, I’m scared of Cor for other reasons, ‘cause who isn’t—but not… that. It’s just that, well. I have yet to formally ask her.”

“Yes, of course.” Clarus took a sip from his cup of coffee and beamed a knowing smile. The kind that punctures the soul.

“Dad, please don’t get the wrong idea, you know she’s just my—”

 _“Just your best friend,_ I understand.” Clarus coupled his knowing smile now with a knowing tone. A deadly combination. He continued, “But that doesn’t mean she’s off the market, so to speak. A girl like her surely must have someone in mind.”

Gladio suddenly thought of Nyx. The thought suddenly bludgeoned him with a thousand pinpricks in his chest.

Out of the blue, Clarus sighed and said, “How I wish Candela was here to see all of this.”

Before he could strangle Nyx in his thoughts (for absolutely no reason at all, just for kicks, he mentally noted), Gladio was taken aback by the sudden mention of Ronnie’s mother. From the many stories his dad had shared with him about the days of his youth, Gladio had heard how his travels with King Regis brought them to Tenebrae, and how that introduced them to the fearsome Tenebraen council led by a feisty woman named Candela Clark. Apart from that, his dad almost never spoke of other stories that revolved around Ronnie’s seemingly notorious mother. The things Gladio knew about Candela were tidbits of information from Ronnie, whenever she fondly and sadly looked back at her old life. Ronnie had once shown Gladio a photograph of Candela. All he could remember was that looking at that photograph, the only thing that looked terrifying about her was her terrifyingly beautiful face.

Curiosity piqued, Gladio asked with a certain degree of discretion. “I‘ve only heard stories about her from Ronnie… what was she like, if I might ask?”

“Well—” Clarus leaned forward, resting his elbows across the table— “when I was around your age and more handsome and dashing than you are now, Gladio, I met Candela and tried to win her affection. Unfortunately, she turned me down and broke my heart.”

As Gladio’s vanity was slightly wounded by that teasing remark from his own father, Iris took it upon herself to catch that nuclear bomb of a revelation. Pushing her laptop aside, she excitedly probed deeper. “Wait, really? You _fancied_ Ronnie’s mom? How come we didn’t know about this? Did Mom even know about this?”

“Why, certainly.” Clarus beamed. “Your mother was actually quite fond of that story. Says if it weren’t for my failed attempts to woo Candela, our paths would not have crossed.”

“Wait, wait, _wait!”_ Gladio and Iris now had both their attention fiercely glued to their father. They asked both at the same time: “Candela introduced you to Mom?”

“Indeed.” Clarus was laughing at the bewildered looks on their faces. “She was quite a matchmaker, I should daresay. Candela may have broken my heart but she did restore it and introduced me to the love of my life that brought you both to this world.”

“Oh, Dad!” Iris was bubbling with laughter that was more out of embarrassment. “That’s… quite an info, but yeah.”

“Then, if you may allow me to quote one of those shows you youngsters watch: that’s the story of how I met your mother.” Clarus wistfully quipped, but both Gladio and Iris could not resist shaking their heads. Their dad really knew how to take his dad jokes on a different level. Clarus even added, “And that’s also Candela for you, too. Sharp and quick-witted. Much like your Briony.”

As if a knee-jerk response, Gladio frowned and murmured under his breath, “Technically, Dad, she isn’t mine—”

“But you want her to be, no?” With that frighteningly sharp quip, Clarus studied Gladio with a strangely pensive expression on his face, like analyzing a specimen under the lens of a microscope. Gladio was relieved he was not eating or drinking anything, else he would have choked. He honestly hoped he wasn’t blushing. His dad went on and said, “Son, I’ve once been in your age, and believe you me, I’m no stranger with that piney look in your eyes. If I had not learned how to gather the courage and be honest with my feelings, Candela’s opportunity might have gone to waste, and I would never have had the chance with your mother.”

“Dad, what _exactly_ are you insinuating?”

“All I’m saying is that as a parent, I would love nothing more but to see my children love fearlessly and without regrets.”

“That’s a tall order, given our job description.”

“Gladiolus.”

The slight lilt in Clarus’s voice was enough to get Gladio’s attention. Gladio supposed he had been used to his father’s stern discipline and dry humour that he barely even recognized the sound of mild concern at the mention of his name.

“It is true that as the Shield of the King, our duty comes with a heavy price,” Clarus continued, his eyes firmly fixed on Gladio. The tone Clarus employed was one that Gladio had never heard from his father before. “The sacrifices you will make along the way will most likely be different from mine. But if there’s anything I want to leave you with, it’s this: this responsibility does not exempt us from basic human emotion. It’s alright to feel scared, to have doubts—and it’s alright to fall in love.”

Gladio shook his head. “Dad, I—“

“Now, if you could let your old man be a little romantic for a minute,” Clarus smiled solemnly. “Gladio, I never wanted for you to feel as if the position we are in would limit or hinder us to find happiness. Or even love. Under these circumstances, yes—it would be very difficult, but certainly not impossible. You just have to find the right person.”

“So Mom…” Iris spread her elbows over the table and sadly mumbled, “So she was your right person, huh, Dad.”

“Indeed. And she would always have my heart.” Clarus wistfully nodded. As Gladio looked at his father’s eyes, he saw him under the light of a bittersweet melancholy that his own heart suddenly ached for his mother. Then, as if to dismiss the threat of nostalgia creeping in, Clarus mirthfully added, “There are billions of people in the world. And in your case, Gladio… perhaps you don’t even need to look further. Perhaps that someone is just right under your nose.”

 

* * *

 

Ronnie was standing so close to Gladio that she was right under his nose, staring up at him with a challenging glare.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Gladio stared her down. “Say what?”

“Quit being stubborn and admit your defeat!”

“Try to get a little more inches Cupcake, and then we’ll talk— _ow, what the fucking fuck!”_

By some weird twist of fate, Ronnie was now towering over Gladio as he gracelessly crumpled to the ground, thanks to that nasty kick on his shin. Meanwhile, three men who were supposed to be Gladio’s friends made audible noises of pain and laughter.

“Ooh, that’s gotta hurt.” Prompto winced, as if he also had been kicked. Noctis was laughing so hard he could barely even comment.

“I must say, you did deserve that, Gladio.” Ignis breezily noted, standing with his arms crossed over his chest before a triumphant-looking Ronnie and a half-dying Gladio. “That was uncalled for. And of all the people you should trifle with, you just had to pick Briony.”

The facts were these: in Gladio’s attempt to shake things up with everyone’s combat training, he proposed an unconventional two-on-two battle simulation—a strategy he believed would help in building a dynamic between unlikely teammates. As they were oddly numbered, Ignis nominated himself to be the referee and suggested the pairs for the said exercise. Since Gladio and Ronnie often trained together, and Noctis and Prompto were almost inseparable, the arrangements ultimately led Ignis to pair Ronnie with Noctis, and Gladio with Prompto.

Surprisingly, Gladio and Prompto worked exceptionally well together. With Prompto being a skilled sharpshooter, and Gladio a remarkable swordfighter, they both proved to be a formidable tandem in ranged and melee combat. Meanwhile, Noctis and Ronnie were just as formidable, given their shared preference of weapon and their magical prowess.

Gladio was mostly pleased to see how Ronnie had progressed. She’s now much quicker with her spells, tougher with her blade. He could almost see Cor in her movements, which was frightening to say the least. Small wonder Captain Drautos finally recognized her potential. All those years Ronnie had spent training with him and Cor forged a warrior out of the refined Tenebraen girl that she once was. And inasmuch Gladio was also pleased to see Noctis’s progress in flawlessly synchronizing with a new ally apart from him and Prompto and Ignis, Noctis and Ronnie’s astonishing chemistry in battle burned Gladio and Prompto’s tactics right to the ground. Literally.

So with Noctis’s inflated ego and Gladio’s competitiveness, adding Ronnie's ever explosive snarkiness into the mix, things got a little heated than expected.

“Okay, fine. I concede!” Gladio growled, picking himself back up to his feet. “Team Brionoct wins.” Ronnie and Noctis shared a thunderous high-five, with shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. “In my defense, I’d say it’s obviously an unfairly ruled two-on-two battle ‘cause you two can warp when Prompto and I couldn’t.”

“Say what you will, Gladio.” Noctis challenged, resting his elbow on Ronnie’s shoulder. Ronnie, on the other hand, looked dangerously smug. “The mechanics clearly said to _go all out._ Not our fault you guys—” he airily pointed at Gladio and Prompto— “can’t keep up.”

“Now that’s harsh, buddy.” Prompto scoffed. “I swear, I will wipe that look on your face in the next round! And you, too, Ronnie!”

“I hear ya, Prompto,” Gladio sneered in agreement. Pulling a menacing gesture by pointing two fingers at his own eyes and then pointing it back at Ronnie, Gladio added, “Especially you, little munchkin.”

Ronnie rolled her eyes at Gladio. “How about less talk, and more action, yeah—”

“I appreciate everyone’s enthusiasm—” Ignis pushed his glasses back, clearing his throat— “but before you lot start murdering each other this instant, how about a break, yes?”

“Hell yes! I thought you’d never ask!” Prompto eagerly switched from _ready to get some revenge_ to _ready to take a break_ real quick. Ignis smiled in amusement, yet the rest collectively groaned in disappointment and shook their heads. “Sorry guys, didn’t really want another round, to be honest. I mean, I just got fired up ‘cause y’all got fired up. But yeah. I’m tired and we need to chill. And I’m thirsty. Gonna grab something to drink!”

As Prompto chirpily drifted to the far end of the training hall where the water dispenser was, Noctis slumped on the floor. Ronnie sat cross-legged beside him. With Ignis and Gladio following suit, the four of them formed a half-circle.

“By the way—great job today, Noct.” Gladio finally eased away from the competitive spirit and sincerely praised Noctis. He wiped the beads of sweat on his forehead with the fabric of his tank top as he added, “Glad to see you finally getting used to that technique I taught you.”

“I know. I’m awesome that way,” Noctis cheerily gloated, which only earned him a chorus of groans from Gladio and Ignis and Ronnie. “But seriously, thanks.” Noctis told Gladio, sounding more bashful as he unconsciously reached for the back of his neck. “And fighting alongside Ronnie was fun, too.”

“Why thank you, Your Highness.” Ronnie teased, giving Noctis’s shoulder a nudge. “It is with great honour that I have fought with the valiant Crown Prince of Lucis—”

“Can it with the courtesy talk.”

“—To vanquish the terrifying evil that is Lord Gladiolus of House Amicitia!”

Noctis burst into fits of laughter that even Ignis—of all people!—was laughing along with him. Gladio struggled to keep a straight face as he demanded, “Who you callin’ evil, huh, Cupcake? It’s _you_ who kicked me in the—”

“Oh, fuck off—I mean, begone, foul beast!” Ronnie mockingly commanded. Gales of laughter erupted even harder from the four them, with Gladio just laughing at Ronnie’s crazy antics, and Ronnie just laughing right back at him with this goofy smile spread across her face.

And it was almost peculiar how that small moment—how that second where Gladio looked into Ronnie’s eyes and she looked back at him, the sound of their infectious laughter filling the spaces of the room—invited a sudden thought in his head that sounded like his father.

_Perhaps you don’t need to look further._

Before Gladio could even dwell on his father’s words, Ignis started, “I must say, Briony—your seamless transition from a fancy court lady to a thug truly frightens me.”

Carrying bottles of water for all of them, Prompto casually sauntered to the group and sat next to Ronnie. “Here ya all go!” Prompto handed one to each of them. And as if he had been in the previous conversation, he added, “Oh and yes, Ronnie’s always been a thug to the core to me. That’s why I don’t want another round—”

Ronnie playfully punched Prompto in his arm. He yelped, “See!”

“Oh by the way, Ronnie,” Noctis piped in, “Umbra returned with the notebook. Uh, Luna sends you her regards. And she’s says…” Noctis paused and scratched his cheek, as if considering the next thing he should say. His voice thick with caution, he said, “She’s still sorry that she wasn't able to reply to any of your letters from way back when.”

Ronnie smiled. “Thank you for letting me know, Noct. And, well… that’s Luna for you.” Gladio knew about those letters Ronnie tried to send Lady Lunafreya during her first year in Lucis, and how it all went unanswered. Cor had to explain to her the full situation happening in Tenebrae that time, before she stopped writing completely.

It was only until years later when Noctis informed Ronnie how Umbra had been appearing to him that she decided to give it another try.

“Anyway, I’m sorry if I’m riding into your strange exchange of love letters,” Ronnie teasingly continued, “but please tell her to keep hugging Umbra and Pryna for me, and that she doesn’t have to worry about the letters since it’s been more than a decade. I forgive her a thousand times, if that should help. And also tell Umbra that he is such a good boy.”

Noctis grinned. “Got it.”

“Do you ever wonder if she’s using an emoji?” Prompto asked Noctis. “Or if she even knows one? Or if she knows a _phone._ Don’t you want to see her pictures, Noct?”

Completely ignoring Prompto, Noctis derailed the subject. “So in other news, my little birds told me that someone in this room has been having a certain kind of romance.”

Noctis glanced at Ronnie. Ignis and Prompto turned to look at her. Gladio watched as they all looked at her and waited for her to say anything.

Ronnie only shrugged. “Huh? What?”

“Oh c’mon,” Noctis groaned. “This is what you get when you don’t have social media. Our game master Pelna posted a photo of you guys.” Pelna was one of the Glaives whom Noctis and Prompto met thanks to their addiction to King's Knight. They would always hunt this Pelna down the Kingsglaive HQ after their classes, whenever they have sidequests that they need to complete in the game. Basically, the guy was a genius gamer. Also, the guy also happened to be Ronnie's friend. And Nyx's, too.

“Wait, what?" Ronnie was baffled. "What photo are you talking about?”

Prompto took his phone out and showed everyone a group photo of Ronnie with the Kingsglaive, and with Nyx planting a kiss on her forehead. It was the first time Gladio was seeing the wretched photo, and it awfully felt like being punched in the dick.

And in that moment, whatever plans he had to ask Ronnie to the gala dissolved into an unreasonable disappointment.

“So this ring any bells?” Prompto teased.

“Oh. That. Right.” Ronnie glanced at Gladio and he immediately looked away. She scrambled to get back on her feet. “So I think I should go—”

“Nope.” Both Prompto and Noctis yanked her arms on either side to get her back to sit. Prompto urged, “Tell us the 4-1-1.”

“There’s no 4-1-1.” Ronnie defensively asserted. “And Nyx and I, we’re just…”

Noctis insisted, “Just what?”

“Casually dating? Keeping it light and breezy? I don’t know.” Ronnie grumbled. “We haven’t had the proper _talk._ Yet. It’s only been… almost three weeks—wait, guys, there’s a fucking huge spider—”

Both Prompto and Noctis howled in horror, swatting above their heads like idiots for... nothing. Ignis did not even flinch. Meanwhile, Ronnie bolted out laughing and warped to the far end of the room.

Prompto yelled after her, “Goddamnit, you know how I hate bugs! Ronnie, come back here!”

As Noctis and Prompto chased after Ronnie and all three of them were completely out of earshot, Ignis said, “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“No, I’m not,” Gladio answered stiffly. “I’m just... exhausted.”

“Exhausted keeping your feelings at bay, perhaps?”

Gladio scoffed. That definitely hit home—and hard. Of course, considering how observant Ignis was, it was almost a guarantee that nothing would ever escape his line of sight. “You never pull any punches, do you?”

“I’d hardly consider that as a punch." Ignis smiled warmly. “It was more of a gentle reminder of sorts.”

Gladio only nodded. “Right.”

 

* * *

 

“What’s up with you?”

Ronnie asked Gladio all of a sudden as they stepped out of the train station and into the quiet streets of South Downtown. It was already late in the evening. Even so, there were still a handful of joggers and folks out and about with their pets. The air carried the fragrance of dry earth and dog shit.

Gladio continued to walk and said, “Whaddaya mean?”

“You’ve been quiet. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Gladio lied. He had to choose a harmless topic quickly, or else Ronnie would grill him to no end. Finally, he sidetracked and said, “Well, Dad came home this morning.”

“Really? How’s Lord Clarus?” Ronnie asked. “I heard from Cor it’s been rather hectic in the Citadel lately.”

Gladio told Ronnie about his earlier conversation with his father, including the one about her mother.

“Seriously?” Ronnie stopped, and when Gladio turned to her, her face brightened into a wide grin. “I never knew that. I mean, about our moms knowing each other.”

“Yeah, so did I.”

“Oh and um, speaking of mothers,” Ronnie said, “I just found out that Mom’s alive.”

“No shit?” Gladio quickly gave Ronnie a hug and said, “That’s great news—how did you find out?”

“Johanna.” Ronnie bit her lip and said, “It’s complicated, but she knows she’s out there. Just not where she is.”

“Still, that’s a huge relief.” Gladio pat her in the back. "It's just a matter of time before you find her, or she finds you."

"I sure hope so." Ronnie smiled.

They continued their walk in silence. Soon enough, they rounded the corner of Kingston Street where Ronnie’s apartment building was. Just as they were about to part ways, Ronnie turned to Gladio. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner… but I can see you’ve been itching to pass your judgment so, go.”

Gladio feigned ignorance. “Judgment about what?”

Ronnie crossed her arms and spared him a withering look. She stood at the front steps of the apartment building, which gave her enough height to look him straight into his eyes.

Gladio stuffed both his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “What? Ronnie, you took the chance, and I'm really glad that you did. And I’m happy for you and Nyx...”

“And there’s a but around there somewhere…”

“He’s, well…” Gladio sighed, struggling to make up reasons to get out of this conversation that he carelessly blurted out, “I don't know, he’s ten years your senior—“

“Seriously?” Ronnie was aghast. “That's your concern? That I’m twenty-one and he’s in his thirties? Wow, that’s… do you want me to bring up the time when you hooked up with a forty—“

“That did not end well—“

“Yes, it didn’t! So is that it? Are you telling me that Nyx and I would end up the same?”

“Wait, no! No, no. No, that’s not it—shit, I’m being an idiot.” Gladio raked his hands through his hair out of frustration. A frustration directed not at Ronnie, but at himself. Not only did he stupidly run his mouth, he bulldozed right into Ronnie’s walls and unleashed her inner demons into a full-blown spiral. He sat her down at the bottom of the steps. Sitting next to her, he said, “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that. There really is no judgment to pass."

“Gladio.”

“Ronnie, I promise, you don’t need my approval and I really am happy—”

“I’m fucking terrified.”

“Wait. About what?”

“This. Being happy. I haven’t felt something like this about someone, Gladio.” Ronnie pulled her legs closer to her chest and wrapped her arms around it. “I really like Nyx and I’m happy whenever I'm with him. I know I sound crazy, but this kind of happiness scares me. First, I find out that Mom’s alive. Then this. I had this feeling of comfort before, back in Tenebrae. Then the Empire came. Now, it’s like life is buttering me up like a pig for slaughter all over again, ready to take away something from me—”

“Ronnie, listen.” Gladio faced Ronnie and firmly held her by the shoulders. “You’re gonna be fine. For fuck’s sake, I won’t let you sabotage this. You hear me?"

Ronnie nodded.

"I’m really sorry for that stupid stuff I said, but as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. And happy looks so good on you. I haven’t seen you smile and laugh and enjoy yourself in a long time. And if Nyx ever hurts you, I swear to all the Six, I’m the last person he should worry about because you can beat him up yourself,” Gladio said finally, and Ronnie exhaled a small laugh. “Still, I got your back. Just say the word and I’ll break his pretty face for you. With Cor’s help.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Ronnie shook her head and smiled. “But thank you. And sorry for kicking you earlier.”

“Nah, you owe me for that one.” Gladio grinned.

Gladio wrapped an arm around Ronnie as she leaned closer to his chest. All things considered, he meant every word of assurance he had said to her. He wanted her to be happy, and if she found that happiness with Nyx, then by all means, he wanted all of that for her. He really, genuinely did.

The thing was, every word was a dagger that stabbed him right through his own heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking it slow with the lore this time around. I'm sorry if you had to put up with this long ass chapter, because I always get carried away with dialogues. So here we all are. And as much as it is obvious on how much I'm letting Gladio suffer in this series, I really wanted to explore the dynamic of his relationships—especially with his family. 
> 
> Meanwhile, the photo shown by Prompto is [this lovely commissioned art](http://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com/post/176121158958/hanatsuki89-double-commission-for-hanalwayssolo) by [hanatsuki89](http://hanatsuki89.tumblr.com).


	18. Nyx Ulric

“In other news—” Captain Drautos cleared his throat and paced across the room in his usual commanding comportment, with the Glaives all on their feet and attentively listening— “I understand that this is late notice, but His Majesty has extended the invitation for us to attend the Lucian Gala.”

Nyx shook his head as the Kingsglaive HQ briefing room erupted with collective roars of cheers and groans of protest, followed by hushed complaints and compliments from his comrades. It was like listening to an audiobook of all the mixed reviews regarding King Regis, only with less propriety and more profanities.

“King Regis sure knows how to piss off his noblemen,” someone murmured behind Nyx. He could not decide if that had been Axis or Sonitus.

“As much as I’m fucking impressed by his balls to include us,” said another, “the problem now is where do they expect us to get fancy clothes?”

For the record, calling the invitation a late notice was an extreme understatement given that the event was happening in _three days._ However, beside Nyx, Crowe was already biting her lip to keep herself from grinning with excitement. Libertus, on the other hand, was restless. Nyx found Libertus’s reaction more reasonable; it’s not like their scrappy lot were ever afforded the luxury of attending a formal event in the city, let alone the biggest annual gala at that. Still, Nyx was actually pretty thrilled about it. He had only heard from Briony how the Lucian Gala was strictly by invitation only. Given this spectacular opportunity, he could not help but indulge with the idea that he could ask Briony to be his date.

“Before you fools start running your mouths, allow me to explain,” Captain Drautos spoke again, loudly and sharply that his voice cut through the senseless chit-chat and whispers, leaving everyone dead in silence. “His Majesty wanted to recognize all of your efforts in light of the recent victories in Galahd. Which is why I expect those who wish to attend to clean up nicely and to be on their best behaviour. Is that clear?”

Usually, it was around this time that Luche or Tredd will raise an objection, but no one seemed to dare to even raise a hand. Stiffly and in an almost perfunctory way, everyone agreed in unison: “Yes, sir!”

“Dismissed.” Captain Drautos waved a hand and left the room. While some of them have also taken their leave, a riot of chatter broke again amongst the remaining Glaives.

“Okay, okay, listen up!” Pelna hollered, breezily waltzing in the middle of the room. “I, too, also have very important news to share.” The Glaives gathered around, leaving as much space as they could for Pelna who stood like a boss in the center of the crowd. This was how most of the Kingsglaive’s crazy brawls or their stupid rap battles come to start, so Nyx was slightly alarmed. With a suave slide of his hand through his hair, Pelna announced, “As you may all know, there is a bet that we have started two years ago in honour of our favourite duo right here.” Pelna pointed at Nyx, and then at Briony, who was standing on the opposite side. Nyx caught her eye, and she only managed to give him a confused smile and shrug before Crowe pushed Briony in front to join Pelna. Nyx did not know Libertus was behind him until he, too, was pushed to join Briony. Everyone banded together like a pack of wolves with an excited chorus of wild howling and whistling. Pelna crammed himself between Briony and Nyx, and slung his arms around their shoulders. “Now, the long wait is over. And so, to those who have betted against our star-crossed lovers, you fuckers better cash out to Crowe by end of day. As we are generous human beings, twenty percent will go straight to the Kingsglaive alcohol fund!”

Just at the bare mention of the alcohol fund, the cheering got even louder. Even the ones who lost whatever kind of bet Pelna was talking about joined in.

When the commotion died down and everyone dispersed all over the room as Crowe and Libertus were already in the business of hunting down the losers, Nyx unwrapped himself from Pelna and said, “Wow, you guys just know how to keep it classy.”

Though Briony did not seem to care, Nyx could not help but notice that Pelna’s arm was still over her shoulder. As Nyx yanked Pelna away from her, she asked, “So, how much money did you make with that bet of yours?”

Pelna flashed a triumphant smirk. “Twenty thousand bucks, my friends.”

Nyx and Briony glanced at each other, and then at Pelna. At the same time, they screeched, “What the fuck!”

“Look, we have a lot of recruits, and majority of ‘em were convinced you two would kill each other by the end of the year.” Pelna grinned. “Easy to fool them since Tredd happened to show them video footage of all the highlights of all your worst arguments _to date._  I watched it, and I gotta give it to Tredd for that cinematic genius. It’s just unfortunate that our newbies don’t know that you lovebirds just express romance in the most unconventional way known to the history of mankind.”

Nyx curled his lips and stared at the ceiling. Briony groaned and said, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but… I am equally frightened and impressed by how you made a business out of this.”

Somewhere at the far end of the room amongst the wooden boards and LED screens, Crowe’s voice swelled as she yelled at one of the Glaives. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have enough middle fingers to show how bullshit that is. Now pay up!”

“And that’s my cue to help Crowe,” Pelna said to both Nyx and Briony. “Laters!”

Just as Pelna drifted towards Crowe on the other side and left Briony and Nyx, Luche and Tredd casually sauntered to join the pair, both of them looking slick and smug as ever.

“Honestly, I’m disappointed in you, Ronnie,” Luche cheekily started by way of greeting. “I thought you had standards.”

Briony nonchalantly shrugged and shot back, “Yeah, I’m disappointed in me, too.”

Luche and Tredd snorted a laughter, giving Briony a high-five. Nyx scoffed in response, “I forgot how the three of you can be the absolute worst.”

Tredd leaned toward Nyx and looped an arm around him as he told Briony, “Is that part of the Nyx relationship package? Getting to roast him on a daily basis?” Tredd snickered, clapping a hand against Nyx’s chest and said, “‘Cause if that had been the case, I should have dated you a long time, hero.”

Nyx pushed Tredd away from him. “Well, fuck you.”

Tredd pretended to be offended and gasped, “Wow, chivalry is dead. You could’ve asked me to dinner first.” Then he winked at Briony, “I’m only kidding, he’s all yours.”

Briony propped her hands on her hips and shot Tredd a look so sharp she could have skinned him alive.

As soon as Libertus summoned Tredd and Luche to help out on the inventory, Nyx took the chance and whisked Briony out of the room.

Outside, the corridors were free of their friends’ crazy commotion. A couple of Kingsglaive and Crownsguard officers were passing by. As they walked down the hallway, Nyx asked, “Hey, so. Do you have any plans tomorrow? Or in the next couple of days?”

“Nothing much. Just… staying home.” Briony raised a brow. “Why?

“Let me guess—” Nyx rested a hand on her shoulder— “you used all your offset hours just so you can spend the next few days hibernating in your apartment until the night of the gala.”

“Okay, that’s… not true at all. I’ll be going out… to buy groceries.” An obvious lie, which was written all over Briony’s face.

Nyx pressed both his palms on her cheeks. He devilishly threatened, “Do you need me to kiss the truth out of you?”

“No—ugh, can you not!” Briony swatted his hands away from her flustered face, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable. Just so you know, social gatherings never fail to drain the life out of me, so… let’s just say I need to emotionally prepare and recharge for that evening.”

“For three straight days.”

“Precisely. I’ll be busy doing nothing.” Briony crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at Nyx. “And how did you even know that I filed my offset hours?”

Nyx shrugged. “Uh, the shared calendar?”

“Oh, right. I’m surprised to know that you actually check that. I always assumed you’re too technologically-challenged to log your leaves.”

“I hate to break it to you, Little Miss Orderly and Organized, but I do know how to work that shared calendar, it’s just that texting the Captain saves much more time, y’know?”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway, back on point. I was hoping—since you will be clearly _not_ busy—that you’d come along with me on a road trip,” Nyx offered. “To Galahd.”

Despite having visited Galahd a few weeks back under a completely different circumstance, and despite the foreign feeling he had felt when he was last there, one thing still remained true: Galahd  _is_ still home. And Nyx had been planning to go on this homecoming trip just in time to surprise his mother on her birthday. Originally, he had planned going on his own. But granted the recent development with his still-unnamed relationship with Briony, with all these weeks spent hanging out and making out at the back of Varma’s, the thought of inviting her only seemed… reasonable. It was a long shot, to be sure; but given Briony’s relationship with his mother, she might be inclined to say yes.

Or so Nyx hoped.

Briony eyed him with equal measure of concern and curiosity. “You’re going home? Why?”

Nyx ran a hand through his hair. “See, it’s my mom’s birthday the day after tomorrow. I told her I wasn’t sure if I’ll have the time, but I only said that so I could surprise her.”

“That’s a pretty long travel…”

“Yes, but I promise, we’ll be back here in the city by weekend, just in time for the ball.” Nyx assured. “So… what do you say?”

“Well… it’s better than being holed up in my apartment, for sure. And I can’t wait to see your mom.” Briony smiled. Nyx could not resist excitedly squeezing her into a quick hug. Pulling away, she added, “Oh, is Libertus coming along?”

“Lib’s not coming—he’ll be covering my post while I’m away. Which isn’t that much, since it’s only warp drills with the recruits. Besides, he’s strapped for cash, so he wanted the extra work,” Nyx explained. “And before you say anything, the Captain agreed to the whole arrangement, so we’re all clear.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, so. Do you need me to help tell Cor about this?"

“Nah, he doesn’t need to know,” Briony said airily. “It’s fine.”

“Are you serious? What if he shows up in your apartment and you weren’t there? Do you want him worried sick about you?” Nyx challenged Briony with questions, something Nyx was certain that Briony had rubbed off on him. The thought bothered him for a swift, passing moment. Before Briony could open her mouth and protest, he pressed a finger on her lips. “And don’t tell me you’ll text him, I highly doubt that when you’re not exactly a trustworthy texter.”

“I have never been thus insulted in my life!” Briony snatched Nyx’s hand and pushed it away from her face, playfully mocking defeat. She pulled a cheesy grin and said, “Don’t worry, I _will_ tell Cor. I promise.” The second time around, the lie was still obviously written all over Briony’s face.

Nyx sneered. “No, you’re not.”

“Oh, I surely will.” Briony began marching towards the end of the hallway. “See? Look at the direction I’m going. I’m clearly going to his office right now and inform him of this impromptu road trip you have ahead of us—”

“You’re a horrible little liar. The Crownsguard floor is _that_ way.” Nyx countered and jerked his thumb behind him. “If you’re not doing it, I will.”

For one dangerous moment, Nyx and Briony stared at each other. A menacing silence. He knew what he was about to do, and Briony already saw it in his eyes.

And with the speed of light, Nyx bolted as fast as he could.

Behind him, Briony yelled, “Son of a bitch!”

Nyx sprinted through the connecting corridor between the Kingsglaive HQ and the Citadel, and flew past attendants, past a couple of Kingsglaive juniors, and even past Captain Drautos. He quickly glanced behind him, only to see Briony was not in close pursuit. Still, he made a mad dash along marble hallways, darted across the grand foyer, swept through a flight of stairs until he reached the floor where Cor’s office was.

But by some wicked twist of fate, Nyx spotted Briony already standing in front of the door, catching her breath. She stuck a tongue out before she went in.

Nyx raced after her. “Wait—”

“Hi, Cor!” Briony greeted, still heaving, slamming the door on Nyx. Luckily, he was strong enough to wrestle his way in. For a tiny person, Briony can sure exhibit extraordinary strength once fueled by sheer determination and competition.

Nyx stumbled inside and exhaled, “Hello, sir.”

“Hey,” Cor stood from behind his desk, visibly stunned. He was studying both Nyx and Briony, seemingly undecided on how to react. “What brings… the both of you here?”

“Sir,” Nyx coughed, “um, Briony here has something very important to say to you.”

Like some rehearsed dialogue, Briony followed along. “Well, yes,” Briony nodded with a bright yet nervous smile. “I came here to tell you that… it’s been a long time since we talked, or hung out, and honestly, this is such a beautiful day, isn’t it? I am—”

“Oh, c’mon, quit stalling!” Nyx chimed in. “Sir, let me cut to the chase.” _Shit, I’m about to die._ Nyx plucked every courage in his body and said with much audacity: “I’m here to inform you that Briony and I will be going to Galahd for the next couple of days. It’s my mom’s birthday, and I asked her to come with me. And she said yes. Just to be clear, I’m not here to ask for your permission, because Briony’s a brave, strong, and independent woman and she don’t need no man, so consider this as a, uh… casual heads up. Just an FYI. On her behalf. Yeah. Oh and I plan to take her as my date for the gala.”

Cor had no sign of any emotion or violent reaction betraying his stern face as he considered Nyx in silence. As much as Nyx wanted to let his eyes wander around the Marshal’s office, he maintained eye contact with Cor. While praying for his life. (Though to be fair, with just a quick look, Nyx concluded that Briony’s meticulous attention to orderliness was highly influenced by Cor. Or maybe, it was the other way around. The immaculate shelving, the neat desk… it just had Briony all over it.)

After a minute that felt like a thousand years, Cor hummed, “Is that all?”

Nyx nodded. “Uh. Yes, sir.”

“Alright. Have fun,” Cor said with a smile. “And you take care.”

Briony sighed loudly. “Thanks, of course.”

“Not you, Ronnie,” Cor clarified. “I mean him.”

Nyx’s face was creased with confusion. “I’m sorry, say again?”

“I know Ronnie can take care of herself, and you said that much, too." Cor sat and leaned back on his seat. “But if you ever dare to hurt her, Nyx Ulric—I will personally see you to your grave. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir. Absolutely. Cool, cool, cool.” Nyx beamed nervously. “Understood.”

Meanwhile, Briony crossed her arms and told Cor: “So. Be honest. How long have you been dying to say that?”

Cor laughed. “Just the entirety of your adolescent years.” To Nyx, he said, “I have to say, Nyx—the look on your face is priceless. I never thought it really has that intimidating effect.”

Nyx winced a smile. “With all due respect, sir, I think anything that you say has the intimidating effect—”

“Alright, alright! That’s enough, gentlemen. Please excuse us!” Briony took Nyx by the arm, already pulling him out of the room. “Oh, and see you in the gala, Cor. Your suit’s on the brown cabinet, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Cor acknowledged with a salute. “Got it. You two stay out of trouble.”

As Briony closed the door behind her, Nyx said, “Hey, I’m sorry I ambushed you back there, with… you know. About the gala—”

“It’s fine. I’m actually glad to have you as my date.” Briony smiled. Together, they walked along the corridor leading to the elevators. After a while, she said, “And um, thanks. That was… pretty cool. What you said back there.”

“Don’t worry about it. Though I honestly thought he would kill me.” Nyx laughed, and he had never thought laughing it out would be such a cathartic release of that short moment of fear. He stopped, took Briony’s hand, and said, “Anyway, now that’s settled, you should head back home and pack your bags. We leave before sunrise.”

 

* * *

 

The smooth early morning drive from Insomnia to Galahd was made possible by the Shark.

It should be noted that apart from alcohol, the Shark was the only precious thing that Nyx openly shared with Libertus and Pelna—a second-generation black Camaro that they bought at a secondhand car shop in East Downtown. Initially, the decision to buy a car was fueled by a strong necessity to have a ride in cases of personal emergencies, extreme homesickness, and out-of-town dates with girls they liked. But most of the time, the Shark had seen more foolish trouble from the trio than actual life-and-death situations—much less a date.

The first time Nyx tested the Shark’s worth as a proper automobile, it had been a ragged, beat-up, piece of work that broke down more than he could remember. However, with Pelna’s exceptionally innovative genius and with the help of a special friend in Hammerhead, they made a fearsome beauty out of the hunk of junk. It may not compare to King Regis’s Regalia or any of the fancy cars in Insomnia, but it sure as hell possessed a charm unlike any other. Thanks to all of Pelna’s tune-ups and customization that costed a month’s worth from all their paychecks, they took their broke asses out of the city and drove all the way to Galdin Quay at night—a dangerous time to be driving with all the daemons lurking around—and arrived at their destination unscathed and all in one piece. Pelna later revealed that the headlights he installed could fend off daemons on the road. Nyx and Libertus were only left impressed, as usual.

And for the first time, Nyx finally took the Shark under circumstances that weirdly satisfied all of their initial necessity criteria: an actual case of a personal emergency, extreme homesickness, and an out-of-town date with a girl he genuinely liked.

Over the horizon, the sun slowly crept up as Nyx drove down the empty road. The view before him was a scenic wonder of colours: the sky was doused in furious pastels of purple and pink, with acres upon acres of golden cornfields and green pastures stretched as far as his eyes could see. Nyx turned the radio on, and a syrupy folk song softly leaked through the static.

 _I need somebody_  
_Needed someone I could trust_  
_I don't gamble_  
_But if I did I would bet on us_

Nyx glanced at the passenger seat and saw that Briony had dozed off, with Whiskey curled and sleeping on her lap. Whiskey had returned to purring ever since they got out of Insomnia, so when Briony fell asleep, he was left alone with no one to share any conversation. But just when he thought that the view ahead of him had been picturesque at best, the sight of Briony’s serene sleeping face bathed in the gentle light of the vanilla sunrise was too beautiful that it was hard _not_ to look at her.

But Nyx realized it was even harder to look away from her.

If he could, he would have pulled over, savoured this moment, this intimate silence, this quiet hour of him and her. But he could not risk waking her, or risk ending up being the creeper who watched her as she peacefully slept. Instead, Nyx memorized the moment, learned how her face mellowed in the morning light. He smiled to himself and he gathered his willpower to keep his eyes straight on the road.

 

* * *

 

Nyx and Briony arrived at the Ulric residence before noon. As soon as Nyx pulled over the sandy lot of his house and they both got out of the car, they were promptly welcomed by the searing heat of Galahdian summer: the sun was shining brightly and hotly, the sky a brilliant blue, the sea breeze warm against his skin. Some things might have changed, but this... Nyx was glad to return home to this kind of day.

Not far away, Nyx saw Marina Ulric from her tiny garden at the side of their quaint stone house, walking her way towards them with a big smile on her radiantly beautiful face. Nyx often wondered why his mother opted to have other people address her as _Ma_  (or other variations like  _Pimp Momma),_ when her name seemed to suit her perfectly well: a woman of the sea, both gentle and tempestuous all in equal measure.

Briony brought Whiskey down, and the cat scampered off to Nyx’s mother. With a cheeky grin, Nyx greeted, “Surprise?”

“Oh, come here.” Carrying Whiskey, Marina beckoned for Nyx to give her a hug. Nyx looped a one-armed embrace around his mother, careful not to squeeze Whiskey between them. She gladly beamed, “A part of me knew you were going to pull a trick like this, coming home unannounced, but I have to say… this is even better.” She turned around and smiled at Briony. “It’s good to have you, Ronnie.” She set Whiskey back down and wrapped Briony in what seemed to be a firm embrace.

“Hi, Ma.” Briony smiled, but as usual, awkwardly returned the hug.

As his mother ushered both of them inside, Nyx asked, “So if I came home alone, you wouldn’t be as surprised?”

“You could say that,” Marina teased. “But I’m glad that you’re here.” Briony sat on the couch, while Whiskey went off and followed his mother in the kitchen. Nyx leaned on the counter and watched as his mother was already fixing them an iced-cold drink. Not a long while, Marina served them each a glass of freshly-squeezed mango juice.

“Thanks, Mom.” Nyx took a swig, and with his thirst quenched, he sighed.  _“Holy shit,_ I missed this. This came from the tree at the back?”

“Where else?” Marina smiled, awfully pleased.

“Ma, this is _really_ good,” Briony giddily noted. “I think I now have a new favourite fruit.”

“Summer is mango season, so it’s good you had the chance to visit again this time around,” Marina explained as she took a seat beside Briony. Whiskey trotted along and leaped to perch herself on Briony’s lap again. “Anyway, I hope you guys aren’t too tired from your trip.” To Nyx, Marina said, “You know, the weather’s been nice as of late, so you should probably take Ronnie to the beach for a swim.”

Briony set her glass down on the table. “Oh, I think I would just stay by the shore. I don’t know how to swim, anyway.”

Nyx slammed his drink down the counter and bewilderedly swiveled to Briony. He looked at her and enunciated every syllable of her name with unfiltered disbelief: “Briony Angela Clark.”

Confused, Briony mumbled, “What?”

“How on earth—how come you don’t know how to swim?” Nyx asked, the tone of his voice was condescendingly judgmental. “Why?”

Whiskey purred loudly. Marina shook her head. “Oh, no. He’s at it again.”

Briony tried to explain. “Uh, because I used to live in the mountains, and now I live in a garbage of a city?”

“Nope.” Nyx clicked his tongue and sternly looked at Briony. “We’ll definitely hit the beach later.”

“But I—”

“Darling, Nyx will stop at nothing until he gets you to swim. That’s how he convinced his sister to overcome her fear of water—he’s persistent, I’m tellin’ you,” his mother warned Briony with a playful smile. “But before all of that, the both of you should rest while I prepare lunch.” To Nyx, she instructed, “Ronnie can stay in Selena’s room.”

Nyx nodded. “Got it.”

Marina stood and walked back to the kitchen. She mirthfully added, “The walls are thin, so no sneaking out at night and sleeping in the same bed, okay?”

“Mom!” Nyx groaned in embarrassment. Briony pursed her lips and looked away.

To finally get themselves settled, Nyx escorted Briony upstairs and showed her to Selena’s room. Or what used to be her room, anyway. Apart from Selena’s clothes and personal items that had been disposed of, her room remained unchanged: her oil paintings were still perched on the wall, dreamcatchers she wove herself still hung on the ceiling, her books neatly arranged on the oaken desk. It was as if she never died, like she only left for a camping trip and decided not to come back home. Nyx had tried to persuade his mother to renovate the room, but she vehemently opposed the idea. At the very least, she wanted to preserve a portion of Selena’s memory by keeping her room just the way it was.

And so, Nyx distinctly remembered during their last visit that he purposely locked this room to keep his crew away, forcing them all to sleep downstairs—with the exception of Crowe and Briony who took it upon themselves to occupy his room.

Nyx leaned on the door frame as he watched Briony looking around, examining the paintings with her usual curiosity. Meanwhile, Whiskey already lounged on the bed. Briony muttered, “Can’t I just... stay in your room?”

Stripped of context, Nyx could not resist the opportunity to tease Briony. “Brie. Didn’t you hear my Mom, she clearly said—”

 _“Oh my god,_ Nyx,” Briony turned to face him just so that he could witness her roll her eyes in both annoyance and embarrassment. “Not what I meant! It’s just… you know, I feel like I’m invading a very private space.”

“It’s okay, I promise.” Nyx insisted, moving closer to Briony. He snaked his arms around her waist and said, “If her ghost decides to show up, I think you guys will get along just fine.”

“Great, then I’ll catch her up with all your crimes,” Briony quipped. And then, she rested her hands on his chest and said, “You must really miss her.”

Nyx sighed. “All the time.”

“Hey, Nyx?”

“Yeah?”

Briony pulled him by his shirt and captured him with a kiss. Nyx kindly responded to the gesture as he curved his body to meet hers, gripping her waist, her arms around his neck.

Breathlessly pulling away, his mouth still so close to hers, Nyx whispered, “You really can’t get enough of me, can you?”

“Shut up,” Briony murmured as her lips curled into a smile. “You are _so_ annoying.”

“I know.” Nyx grinned. He glanced on the bed and saw Whiskey was curiously watching them, ears perked up and tail raised and curled at the end. Briony turned to the direction where he was looking, and she could not help but giggle.

“I’m sorry you had to see all that mushy stuff,” Briony said to their feline Messenger. Whiskey only responded with a high-pitched meow that seemed to sound that she was very pleased.

Before he left the room, Nyx pressed a kiss on her forehead and another on the crown of her head. “Well, then. Make yourself comfortable. Go get some rest, because later, you and I will make a swimmer out of you, Brie Cheese.”

 

 

Later that day, Nyx stood by the door of his room all geared and ready in his board shorts. He waited for his mother and Briony to come out of the other room, which was just directly opposite his own room.

And when they finally did, Nyx was beginning to regret that he ever brought up the idea of teaching Briony how to swim in front of his mother.

“Sweetheart, look at _her.”_ Marina was smiling behind Briony as she gently pushed her out of the door wearing a black one-piece swimsuit. “This used to be mine, and I can’t believe it fits her perfectly.”

“I never thought these things can be so... uncomfortable.” Briony had her body timidly curled in on herself, one arm wrapped around her stomach, the other draped over her chest. A useless attempt on her part to cover herself up, Nyx thought, not when the swimsuit superbly showed how her freckles also dotted her shoulders, spilling all the way to her arms; how it openly displayed her thighs, and how the fabric hugged her hips and defined the curves of her body, so shapely and delicate and feminine; and how it flaunted every inch of skin Nyx had never seen before, given all the times he had spent with her in the ruggedness of their Kingsglaive uniform or her usual choice of t-shirt and jeans.

Nyx was having a hard time taking his eyes off her. And he could not help but wonder if she really was freckled _all over…_

“Cool, cool, cool, cool. Uh, Mom.” Nyx cleared his throat, altogether pushing a pin over that dangerous, looming thought. “Don’t we have, um… like a rashguard or something?”

“I’m sorry, we don’t.” His mother shook her head, her eyes reflecting a playful glint. “This is the only thing I have around here.”

Briony muttered, “You know, I could just wear a shirt and—”

“Ronnie, it’s hot out there. And you wouldn’t want to have shirt marks, with this kind of scorching sun,” Marina advised. “And trust me, you look wonderful.”

“Okay,” Briony obediently obliged. “Let me just get some stuff first.” She went back inside the room. Marina leaned on the side of the door, arms crossed over her chest.

Nyx eyed his mother with suspicion. “Mom.”

“What?” Her innocent smile spoke volumes of mischief.

Briony immediately returned with a brown knitted satchel slung over her shoulder. “So. Shall we?”

Nyx groaned and told his mother. “We’ll talk later.”

“Of course we will, sweetheart,” Marina answered, picking up Whiskey who emerged from inside the room. Briony was confused with the exchange between mother and son. As Nyx and Briony climbed downstairs, Marina yelled after them, “You kids enjoy! And don’t forget to wear sunscreen!”

 

 

That afternoon, Nyx finally got to share with Briony all the things about their beachfront house that he considered his most treasured luxuries: a bright summer’s day, a cloudless sky, the shore dipped in white gold, the sea a rippling blanket of different palettes of blue. The breeze even made music with the palm trees and the ocean waves, as if lovingly singing him home, as if to serenade him with a sweet melody that crooned  _Not everything has changed._

As always, there were only a handful of people on the beach. On the farthest side, there were a couple of children playing on the shallow end and a woman busy picking seashells by the shore.

“So, what do you have in there?” Nyx asked as he planted a wide, white umbrella and laid a watermelon beach blanket on the sand.

Briony sat with Nyx under the umbrella and rummaged through her bag. “Well, I got a book, just in case I decide that swimming is a bad idea.” She shot Nyx a dry look and he only rolled his eyes at her. “And, uh... a first aid kit, a pack of gum, and my Polaroid camera and extra films—”

“Whoa, you got loads of stuff in there.” Nyx sidled up to her. “Can I borrow your cam?”

“Sure.” Briony handed Nyx her Polaroid camera. It was one of those vintage models that were a bit bulky compared to the most recent releases. He pointed the camera at her as she smilingly said, “I actually have tons of film I haven’t used yet, so—”

A click and a flash interrupted whatever Briony was going to say next. A printed sheet slowly slid out in front of the camera.

“That’s pretty cool,” Nyx beamed.

“You just wasted one shot on me.” Briony sighed. “I’m not exactly a nice subject, given what I’m wearing right now.”

“Are you kidding? You’re worth every fucking shot.” Nyx meant every word, both literally and figuratively. “And you are the perfect subject right now. So, do I really need to shake this thing?”

Briony laughed. “Yeah.”

Nyx did as he was told and shook the photo, until he finally saw the colour slowly unravel, revealing that moment he captured Briony’s candid smile.

“See, look at you, you beautiful Brie Cheese.” Nyx smirked, flashing the picture at Briony. With this heat, it was hard to distinguish if Briony was blushing or if she just reddened all thanks to the temperature. Tucking away the photo in Briony’s satchel, Nyx finally said, “Look, I won’t let you distract me away from our purpose here. C’mon—”

“Wait, um.” Just as Nyx was about to get up, Briony brought out a bottle of sunscreen. “A little help?”

_Oh fuck. I am… fucked._

Briony tied her hair into a bun and turned to have her back to face him. Nyx did not realize that the back of her swimsuit was open, the fabric line curving just above her hip. He immediately noticed the scars: one ran all the way from her right shoulder down the middle of her back, and a small _x_ above her hips.

Nyx swallowed hard. He slathered sunscreen on her back and as carefully as he could—just so he could distract himself with conversation—he asked: “So. Where’d you get this?”

“Cor’s intensive drills,” Briony replied, her head tilting on the side of her shoulder. “I think I was fifteen? Gladio accidentally summoned his greatsword and failed to see me, so _that_ happened.”

“Shit. So what did Cor do? I’m assuming he gave him some kind of punishment for ever putting you in danger.” Nyx suddenly recalled what Cor said that day he told him about this trip. He shuddered at the thought.

Briony laughed. “Well, if you remember Gladio ever joining on some of your combat drills for three months, then that’s the one.”

“Oh, so that’s what it was about,” Nyx realized Briony was talking about that time Gladio was sent to spend three months with the Kingsglaive. “That’s a pretty nasty punishment for a teenager, I have to say... but Gladio pretty much kicked everyone’s ass by the time he got used to how brutal everyone was.” Combat drills with the Kingsglaive were far unforgiving than the ones designed for the Crownsguard, and that was just not a bold claim coming from Nyx—everyone knew how most recruits decide to shift to the Crownsguard because it was _that_ vicious. It was physically, emotionally, and mentally demanding. What made it worse was how most of the veteran Glaives did not have the tolerance to take any shit whatsoever. Which was why when Gladio proved his worth despite the jeers some of the Senior Glaives hurled his way, he proved to be a formidable fighter that earned Nyx’s respect and the rest of his comrades.

“Anyway, that should do it.” Nyx got up and wiped his hands clean. “Let’s get going, Brie.”

Briony got up, too. Then, she whined, “Oh gods, it’s so hot.”

“You’ll forget that once you’re in the water.”

“How about I just stay here under the shade?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Don’t make me carry you.”

“Oh, you won’t dare— _what the fuck, Nyx!”_

And just like that, Nyx threw Briony over his back and carried her like a sack of potatoes as she squealed helplessly. Nyx dashed through baked sand and plunged the both of them right into the shallow portion of the water.

Nyx quickly resurfaced. Briony emerged a little later, her hair sopping and sticking all over her face.

“You’re such a fucking asshole!” Briony coughed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Nyx was laughing so hard as he waded toward her.

“Come here, you little sea urchin.” Nyx pressed his palms on her cheeks. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I fucking hate you.” Briony sneered, and Nyx saw she was struggling not to laugh. So he peppered her with sloppy kisses, and she burst out giggling. “This is actually nice.”

All throughout the afternoon, Nyx and Briony soaked themselves in sunshine, wrestling against the gentle crashing waves, jumping and splashing and laughing with wild abandon. When Briony tried to return to shore, Nyx only chased her down, wrapping his arms around her waist, Briony squealing as he dragged her back on water. He would plant wet and salty kisses on her shoulder, on the back of her neck, and even on her scars until he could make her laugh.

In terms of teaching Briony how to swim, Nyx managed to teach Briony how to float, at the very least. “Relax. I got you. I won’t let you drown,” he kept telling her as he held her with both arms underwater while slowly pulling away, until she was already floating on her back on her own.

“This is… _really_ nice,” she said, smiling from ear to ear.

By the time the sky was drenched to a fiery orange, Nyx and Briony sat on the shore, feet encrusted in sand and skin baked in saltwater, and watched the sun slowly sink into the horizon.

“Good gods, I don’t know how you can improve a view like this.” Briony sighed in wonder, pulling her legs closer to her chest.

Nyx only looked at her. “My view’s not so bad either, Brie.”

Briony looked back at him. She scrunched up her nose and said, “Can you stop being charming for, like, one second?”

A smirk tugged the corners of his mouth. “But it’s my redeeming quality.”

As Briony leaned her head on his shoulder and he looped an arm around her, Nyx asked, “Have you ever wondered what you wanted to be if you weren’t in the Glaive?”

“That’s an excellent question, Nyx Ulric,” Briony mumbled. “Now that I think about it…. I haven’t really given it much thought. Ever since I got to Lucis, all I ever cared about was to be stronger, find a way to get back at the Empire.”

“So if we take all of that out of the equation, what would you say your dream would be?”

“I guess… I’d like to keep my job at the library. Or take up creative writing and become a writer. Or make music.” Briony pulled away and asked, “How about you?”

Nyx smiled. “Probably run a restaurant business, continue the one I had here with Libertus. I was actually pretty good at that.” 

Briony chewed on her lip. “Do you ever regret it? Leaving home and joining the Glaive?”

“No.” Nyx looked at Briony, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Blessed be the Stars that I joined. Because if I hadn’t, gods know I wouldn’t have met you.”

 

 

The following morning, Nyx woke up to the scent of butter and vanilla.

Nyx got dressed in his white long-sleeved shirt and gray sweatpants and went downstairs. He found his mother in the kitchen, with Whiskey watching and sitting over the counter.

“Happy birthday, Mom.” Nyx hugged her from behind. “You didn’t have to bake, y'know. I could’ve gone to town to—”

“No, it’s fine,” Marina insisted as she stirred a bowl of cake flour. “Besides, I enjoy making things for myself.”

“Right.” Nyx pulled away and leaned on the counter. Whiskey shuffled to his side, rubbing her head against the sleeve of his shirt, begging for attention; and so, he playfully scratched her belly. He wondered if he should bring up to her mother the subject of Whiskey being a supernatural cat, but decided against it.

“If you’re looking for Ronnie, she’s down at the beach,” Marina suddenly noted. 

“Oh. Okay.” Nyx mindlessly rubbed Whiskey’s head. “Got it.”

“So—” Marina set down the bowl and turned to Nyx— “when exactly are you planning on telling me about the two of you?”

“Mom, we’re… dating.” Nyx scratched his head. He was not exactly sure on what to answer. “And we still haven’t really talked about _the thing_ yet.”

Whiskey chimed with a frisky purr and licked its paw. Nyx felt like she said something judgmental if she could talk right now.

Marina raised an eyebrow. “And by _thing,_ you mean the _boyfriend-girlfriend thing."_

“Yeah.”

His mother straightened, firmly folded her arms over her chest, and stared at Nyx as if he had done something completely offensive. “Sweetheart, I’m old, but I’m not blind. You two obviously like each other. I saw you two at the beach, you can’t even keep your hands to yourself, young man.”

“Mom!” Nyx half-groaned and half-laughed in both embarrassment and amusement. “Goodness. Of course I’ll be! She looked ravishing in that one-piece you loaned her.”

“I know, right?” Marina smiled. “Then what in the world are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know…” Nyx shrugged. “I just feel guilty about being happy. Like, do I even deserve this, or do I even deserve her—”

“Nyx, look at me,” Marina grabbed his hand and held it firmly. With a stern look, she urged, “Everyone deserves a shot at happiness, including you. You deserve to be happy, and I want you to be happy. And your sister would’ve wanted the same thing for you.” Just as her face softened, she continued, “You’ve been protecting us since your father left. Sometimes, I think that you got so good at it that it’s the reason why you chose to be a Glaive, so you can protect everyone else. But this… what you have with Ronnie, I want you to have that. Life is too short to ever let that go.”

“Oh, Mom.” Nyx hugged his mother again, tighter and fiercer this time. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Marina rubbed his back and said, “But please—as your birthday gift to me, I would love nothing more but for you to get your ass out there and ask Ronnie to be your girlfriend.”

Nyx pulled away and considered his mother for a moment. Then, he hurried up to his room, took a pen and paper, and started writing.

 

 

Nyx found Briony sitting by the shore in her red _Arcade Fire_ shirt and denim shorts.

As soon as he saw him approaching, Briony stood up, dusting the sand from the back of her thighs, and greeted him with a smile. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Nyx greeted back, but he could feel his heart beating loudly against his chest. The piece of paper in his hand was getting heavier each second.

Briony narrowed her eyes at him. “Is everything okay—”

“I know it’s only been three weeks,” Nyx blurted out. “But… I wrote you a list. Here.”

Nyx handed Briony a piece of paper that read:

_Reasons why I want Briony Angela Clark to be my girlfriend:_

  1. _She loves music._
  2. _She loves animals._
  3. _She is so brave it scares the hell out of me._
  4. _She makes this weird face when she’s reading, it’s adorable._
  5. _She’s also a good kisser. (And I like kissing her.)_
  6. _Her hands fit perfectly with mine._
  7. _She has the cutest butt._
  8. _I just really like her since I first saw her. Like I’ve had the hugest crush on her since... ever. I’m just a coward._
  9. _She’s organized, and she makes me want to get my shit together and undo my own mess._
  10. _She’s an amazing person and the best I’ve met, and whenever I’m with her, she makes me want to be my best self._



_P.S. My mom says I’d be so stupid if I even think about letting her go._

Nyx watched her read the thing as he went nervously rambling away. “I honestly think you’re amazing. I… _fuck,_ I’m not really good at relationships as far as my personal history is concerned, but I want you to know that I really do like you, and I had to write that all out because I was fucking sure I’d mess it up, and I don’t want to mess it up, and I just… are you crying?”

Briony's face wrinkled as she croaked, “No, no, my eyes are just mimicking a waterfall. And this… is a really well-written list. It’s annoying.”

Nyx inched closer to Briony and wiped the tears from her face. “So, partner. Brie Cheese. Briony Angela Clark. Will you be my girl?”

She sniffed. “Will you let me answer you, _Pride and Prejudice_ style?”

Nyx laughed. “Absolutely.”

“Then... yes.” She smiled and giggled between tears. “A thousand times yes.”

 

* * *

  

The amazing early morning drive from Galahd to Insomnia was made possible by the Shark, and Briony’s ability to pull many different funny faces on the passenger seat.

As Nyx drove down the road, past the Galahdian beaches, past the giant forests, the green pastures, and the golden cornfields, Briony held his hand, his fingers threading perfectly with hers. They laughed and talked and kissed, and Whiskey who peacefully lounged on Briony’s lap did not pay them any mind. All throughout the drive, Briony took as many pictures as she can with her camera, and Nyx sang along to every familiar song that gracefully spilled through the static, and belted out when one particular song came on the radio.

 _Lost in me, lost in you_  
_Angela, on my knees_  
_I belong, I believe_  
_Home at last_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for bearing this long-ass chapter! A couple of things:
> 
> 1\. I forgot that the first time I introduced Marina Ulric, I never got to introduce her properly with her actual name because in Briony's POV, Libertus did the introduction and did it poorly. So yes to finally getting to talk to her (and about her) in a more personal light, which is Nyx's POV.  
> 2\. Songs featured in here are: The Lumineers' _[Dead Sea](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUaExjMc3IY)_ and _[Angela](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_II0fc7hgNY)_.  
>  3\. I had to trim this chapter down and move that part to the next chapter because, as you all might have noticed, this got longer than I thought it would be.  
> 4\. Whiskey/Hestia lost her voice when they got out of Insomnia, FYI. Also, fun fact: please watch [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wrds7uujoAo) because I think this is what happened when this cat first celebrated the holidays with the Ulrics.


	19. Briony Clark

Briony was stirred from her sleep by a series of loud knocking on her door and her phone ruthlessly vibrating somewhere underneath her sheets. She groggily shuffled and blindly searched for her phone with one hand, until she found it under her stacks of pillows.

With eyes still half shut, Briony picked up. And as soon as she did, the knocking suddenly stopped.

She groaned. “Hello—”

 _“I’ve been outside your door for ten minutes.”_ It was Crowe. Her voice was razor-sharp with annoyance. _“Is Nyx there? Are you two in the middle of having morning sex—”_

“Crowe! What—for fuck’s sake, of course not!” That somehow shoved Briony awake as she frantically got up. As far as she recalled, Briony only had Nyx over for a couple of hours when she offered him to get some decent shut-eye before he drove the Shark back to Pelna’s garage. Naturally, getting the said shut-eye was promptly halted when Nyx saw the inside of Briony’s apartment. Like a kid in a candy store, he browsed through the titles on her bookshelves, examined the older Polaroids on the wall, studied the lists posted on the corkboard of her fridge. Eventually, Briony had to drag him away from her childhood pictures and sat his ass down on the couch, which only ended up with them making out. And finally, sleeping together—in the purest sense of the word.

And as much as Briony had wanted to ask Nyx to stay the night, she was immediately overwhelmed with hesitation. She had never had anyone stay over. The idea was an uncharted territory that only made her anxious. And much like all her anxieties, Briony dealt with it by suspending the thought into the void.

Still, that did not keep Briony from stupidly looking beside her bed and under the covers to see if he was there.

Unfortunately, he really wasn’t.

_What the fuck am I even doing?_

She lurched out of bed and hurriedly told Crowe over the phone, “Wait, I’ll be right there—”

Briony opened the door, and there was Crowe donning a wicked smile on her face. She had a plastic-coated white dress on one hand and a black trolley on the other. In this ungodly hour—which, by Briony’s definition, included eleven in the morning on a fucking Sunday—Crowe was vibrant in her sleek white shirt and ankle-length trousers. Meanwhile, Briony looked like a night horror in her white oversized shirt.

“That woke you up, huh?” Crowe playfully patted her cheek.

“It makes for a tacky alarm tone, to be sure.” Briony gestured for Crowe to come inside. Crowe pulled her trolley next to her, its wheels clacking against the wooden floor as she went straight to the living room, to which Briony sheepishly ushered her in.

Casually looking around, Crowe said, “Wow, your place is so… homey. And so _you.”_

Briony quirked her lips and crossed her arms in a display of distress. “Um, remind me why you’re here this early? And… I don’t remember telling you my address…”

Stupefied with disbelief, Crowe stared at her, as if Briony had dropped some shocking news. “Shorty, it’s already past eleven. And uh, hello—the Lucian Gala? Six p.m. tonight?”

“Yes, I know that—but isn’t it a bit too early?” Briony argued.

“You precious McNugget, you. It takes considerable amount of time to look fucking glamorous.” Crowe raised her perfectly threaded brows and her mouth curled into a teasing smirk. “As for your address, I’m sorry if I had to threaten your _boyfriend_ to tell me where you live. I was worried he already fucked your brains out for three days you two were together that I thought you’d forget about tonight—”

 _“Oh my god—"_ Briony rushed to cover Crowe’s mouth with her hand— “Okay, right, please stop talking now.”

Crowe’s pleas were muffled as she wrestled to yank Briony’s hand off her face. As soon as Briony tore away from Crowe, they both cackled with laughter. “You tiny monster, that fucking hurt—I completely forgot how strong you could get!” Crowe held and massaged her cheek. “And I’d stop talking if _you_ start talking!”

Briony pointed a finger at Crowe. “Ha! So that’s the real reason why you’re really early, isn’t it?”

“No. Yes. Partly!” Crowe was backpedaling miserably. In resignation, Briony flopped down into the couch; Crowe, too, flopped right beside Briony, fixed herself to sit sideways, propped her elbow on the headrest, and rested her intrigued face on her hand. Crowe kept her eyes glued on Briony. “So? How was the trip with the _boyfriend?”_

Briony found it incredibly difficult to stop herself from smiling. Her smile was so infectious that Crowe could not help but smile at her giddiness. Crowe’s question invited an overwhelming wave of happiness that Briony, for all her literary sense and bookishness, was at a loss for the right words to say. For instance, Briony strongly felt that the word _perfect_ fell criminally short if she were to describe how ridiculously mind-blowing their trip was. And then, of course, the word _surreal_ did not fully address the matter of how foreign it was to refer to Nyx as her _boyfriend,_ a concept that still sounded too alien for her.

But the language of Briony and Crowe’s friendship went far and beyond the confines of established vocabulary. Theirs was a friendship that was heavily nuanced by their sisterly affection. Best believe that they could gush all the nitty gritty details of their personal lives in morse code or a string of incoherent excited shrieks, and they would still understand each other all the same. And Briony cherished Crowe for her brutal honesty and crude humour that always made these unfiltered and uncomfortable conversations strangely comfortable—even if it meant explicitly discussing her sex life.

For what it’s worth, this too was the kind of uncomfortable conversations Briony could also comfortably share with Gladio. But sometimes, a girl just needed a girl best friend.

“For the record—” Briony cleared her throat as she confessed **—** “Nyx and I haven’t had done _it_ yet.”

Crowe held a hand up and scooted a little closer to Briony. “Wait, I’m sorry… so you two haven’t had sex?”

“Nope.” Briony chewed her lower lip.

Crowe considered her curiously and quite teasingly. “Then what the fuck have you two been doing these past few weeks?”

“Just… hanging out at Varma’s. Exchanging memes. Talking. Kissing. Kissing while talking.” Briony pulled her feet up the couch and sat cross-legged. She huffed an exasperated sigh and went on, “And it’s not like he’s made any advances… about doing it. Is… that not normal?”

“Ronnie.” Crowe gripped Briony by the shoulders. “You do realize that this is Nyx we’re talking about, right?”

“Yeah?”

“And you do know that both men and women would die just to have him bang the shit out of them? I mean, I’m a lesbian, but still—”

“Yes, yes—I’m highly aware of that.” Briony nodded furiously. The sudden thought of Nyx’s notoriety with all his previous affairs shot Briony with an irrational sense of panic. She crossed her arms and stammered, “Wait, should I—should I be concerned that he still hasn’t considered, like, _with_ me—”

“No, no! Oh god, no. Ronnie, that’s not even where my train of thought was going!” Crowe was quick to recognize how the pulleys and gears of Briony’s overthinking mind worked. She held her hand and firmly reassured, “It’s not normal for Nyx, yes. But in a good way. ‘Cause _fuck,_ I don’t know what you did to him, but it’s still hard to wrap my head around the idea that he’s turned over a new leaf. And I’m so glad it was with you. Trust me—I have never seen him _this_ serious.” Crowe smiled, but her smile slowly faded as she started eyeing Briony with a sneaking suspicion. “But just so we’re clear… you do want to sleep with him, right?”

“Gods, of course!” Briony tossed her hands in the air, and they both burst out laughing. Briony leaned her head back against the headrest and admitted, “I just… don’t know when. Or how.” She shifted in her seat so she could directly face Crowe. “And It’s not like I have a vast sexual experience. I mean, the bar’s pretty low. Don’t even get me started with the last guy I dated. The number of times I faked—”

“Oh god, I won’t let you relive that nightmare of an asshole who doesn’t believe in labels!” Crowe shuddered. lf Briony’s shitty luck in the dating department was concerned, Crowe knew everything there was to know about the kinds of shitstorm Briony had bravely weathered. “I know that you’re done and over with that dude and I’m glad that phase of your life is over, but if you could just let us know where this guy lives so I could shove his dick to a meat grinder—”

“No,” Briony vehemently refused. “That’s morbid, and I would rather use our time and energy to more meaningful pursuits.”

“Well, fine. You’re right,” Crowe easily agreed with a cheeky smile. “Meaningful pursuits like getting you in bed with Nyx.”

“I, well… uh, I was actually talking about, like, learning how to do makeup?”

“Or learning how to _do_ Nyx—”

“Or, maybe, consider this: your skincare routine! How about that—”

“Sex is good for the skin.” Crowe smirked triumphantly. “Nice try changing the subject.”

Briony groaned in defeat and rolled her eyes, evidently flustered how she was quickly outwitted by Crowe at every turn. “I just can’t win with you, can I?”

Crowe grinned. “That’s what I like about you. You’re a competitive little bitch.”

“What can I say, I learned from the best.” Briony shrugged and grinned smugly back at Crowe.

“But Ronnie, if I may offer you some unsolicited advice...” Crowe pulled one leg up the couch, the expression on her face gradually mellowing into a pensive look. “I don’t want to sound too motherly, but… I can see how much this bothers you, and I never want you to feel pressured into doing something you’re not a hundred percent prepared for. So if you really want to do the deed with him but you’re not ready yet, it’s fine. You just gotta tell him whatever’s on your mind. Have that open conversation with him. He’s your boyfriend, Ronnie—and you should be comfortable talking to Nyx about these kinds of things, too.”

Briony regarded Crowe with a grateful smile. “You’re right. Thank you. For always knowing the right things to say.”

“I got you,” Crowe beamed. “And, you know, before we get carried away with this heartfelt moment, I suggest you get your ass out there and take a shower already, ‘cause we got a long day ahead of us.”

“Why, yes ma’am.” Briony gestured a salute as she got on her feet and scuffled to the bathroom. In the shower, she pressed her forehead against the cold tile and let the hot water run on her neck. She closed her eyes, and she tried her best not to think about Nyx.

 

 

By the time Briony emerged from the shower cloaked in a white robe and her towel-wrapped hair, Crowe had already unpacked the contents of her trolley and colonized the entire living room area with all of her makeup. Spread all over the coffee table, Briony spied different shades and colours of eyeshadow, tubes of lipstick, bottles of concealer, and brushes of various shapes and sizes. A portable vanity mirror was installed in the middle. There were also other small containers which Briony could not recognize. She assumed its purpose was along the lines of being used for either the hair or face. Apart from that, the things that were out of place in this vibrant array of beauty products were two mugs of green tea and an open bag of honey butter almonds.

“Sorry for the mess and for exploring your kitchen a bit,” Crowe said as she curled her hair with an iron in front of the mirror. “I made you some tea.”

“Thanks." Briony carefully treaded the extension cord that snaked on the floor as she made her way to sit beside Crowe. She lifted a mug from the table and embraced its warmth between the palms of her hands. The tea smelled light and fragrant. She took a sip and said, “I… had no idea you owned _this much_ makeup. This is insane. When did you learn how to do this?”

“When I was back in the orphanage,” Crowe began, her attention still fixed on her reflection in the mirror, “I used to play around with our matron’s makeup. She used to have loads of these, and she taught me how to wear lipstick, apply foundation, mascara, what works well with other skin tones—just the whole process. And then she would let me play around with it with the other girls. We would even take turns braiding each other’s hair. It was kind of a riot, but she never got mad at us. So, yeah. Now here I am, spending a part of my paycheck on beauty goodies.”

Briony set the mug down and looked at Crowe. “Your matron… is she the same one you mentioned before? The one who could draw out water?”

“Yeah. I remember one time, when there was a dry spell all over Cleigne, the flowers in the orphanage’s small garden wilted and died. But one morning, when we woke up, the flowers were back in full bloom, as if it was spring. Us kids thought she just bought new ones from Lestallum. But now, looking back… every morning when she said she would tend to the garden, I think she was keeping all those flowers alive.” Crowe smiled ruefully. She switched off the curling iron and returned it on the table. Facing Briony, she continued, “Marlowe’s her name. At least, that’s the name she introduced us with. I wonder if she knows Maxx and Whiskey. Or if Maxx and Whiskey know her. After meeting those two, and finding out about Johanna, I kinda regret leaving her behind the way I did. And to think I poked fun at her whenever she told us about Messengers...”

“Crowe, you were a child back then,” Briony reasoned. “As children, we usually cannot grasp the concept of how important or great a person really is until we reach a certain age where we finally get to understand.” As Briony said it, she felt as if she was also speaking to herself with regards to what she knew about her mother...

“I guess so,” Crowe wistfully said under her breath. “Maybe I should visit her one of these days…”

“And I’d love to join you,” Briony offered sincerely. She saw in Crowe’s eyes a bittersweet hope, an anxious longing. The possibility of leaving the city once again only left Briony to be enticed by the prospect of it.

“Of course. But enough about that!” Slapping her hands against her lap, Crowe removed herself from the sudden melancholy and turned to Briony with a chirpy smile on her face. “We’ll worry about it after tonight. For now, I wanna see your dress!”

“Oh, right. It’s in my room,” Briony noted. Before she could even get up, Crowe beat her to it and excitedly shuffled around the couch, proceeding to Briony’s room. Briony twisted to kneel on her seat, leaning her elbows against the headrest. She waited for Crowe’s reaction. Though Briony could not recall if she already had the dress taken out of the armoire—

“Shut the fuck up!” Crowe shrieked.

Briony perked up and shot back, “Is everything okay?”

Crowe stepped out of the room, her face marked with awe. Briony took that as a confirmation that the dress was, indeed, out of the armoire.

“Girl. _Giiiiirl._ That gown… holy shit on hot wheels. I can’t wait for Nyx to see you on that fucking dress,” Crowe said, breaking into an amused grin. “And I shit you not, if that doesn’t get his dick hard, then I don’t know what will.”

 

 

Crowe and Briony had finished getting ready, packing up, and returning Apartment 401 back to its pristine condition by the time Crowe got a text from Pelna announcing the arrival of their majestic ride. And by majestic ride, Pelna meant the ever reliable Shark. Briony also got a text from Nyx:

_Best glaive ever 4:30 PM your three musketeers have arrived, at your humble service_

_Best glaive ever 4:30 PM also, i can’t wait to see you, my brie cheese :)_

“Shall we?” Crowe smiled at Briony and booped her nose as they exited the room. Even behind the silly antics, Briony swore Crowe was a goddess incarnate. With her hair down and her lips painted a furious red, she was a divine vision in her sheer white gown that elegantly cascaded her frame, the plunging neckline even more elegantly sultry.

Meanwhile, Briony slightly struggled in her black five-inch heels and in her floor-grazing black dress. As much as she agonizingly squeezed herself into the dress, Briony adored the painfully expensive thing; the layers of glittery tulle mimicked a night’s sky, and it made her feel like she was clothed in multitudes of galaxies.

As soon as they stepped out, Briony immediately saw Nyx waiting at the front steps, looking so devilishly dapper in his tuxedo suit.

And the look on his ever so handsome face was that of awe and wonder.

Briony smiled at Nyx, hoping there wasn’t any lipstick stain on her front teeth. He smiled back rather nervously, running his hand through his hair as he walked over to her.

“Hi,” they both said at the same time. Behind Nyx, Briony saw the Shark was neatly parked right in front of her apartment building. Pelna waved at Briony from the driver’s seat. Crowe gave them both a knowing smile as she went on ahead to join Libertus in the backseat of the car.

“So…” Nyx leaned closer, and for the first time, Briony was thankful to be wearing her gods-forsaken heels; this was the closest she could stare at Nyx’s blue eyes without him completely towering over her. And in that heart-stopping moment, Briony was within the radius of his familiar minty perfume, and she was struck with a sharp ache of wanting to kiss him. Nyx took her hand and whispered, “I actually have a girlfriend, and she’s gonna be here in a minute… but I’d love to have your number.”

Briony scoffed and shook her head. Joining Nyx’s charade, she teasingly whispered back, “I don’t think I can do that. My man’s gonna be here soon—”

“Then let this be our tiny secret,” Nyx cheekily proposed. “What do you say?”

“Nyx, quit it.”

“Oh, so you do know my name? How uncanny—”

“Hey guys!” Pelna bellowed from the car. “I love you and I hate to be the douchebag to cut off this moment but can we pause the flirting so we can all go?”

Without turning around to face Pelna, Nyx responded by raising his middle finger, and Briony laughed. Soon enough, they both walked to the Shark to join their friends. Before Nyx opened the car door for Briony, he pressed a kiss on her cheek and said, “You’re a stunner, my Briony Clark. You make me feel like the luckiest son of a bitch alive.”

 

* * *

 

Inside the Crepera Chamber of the Royal Museum of Lucis, Briony was twenty miles and twenty million Lucian pounds away from the comfort of Apartment 401. The sweeping expanse of the room was a dizzying kaleidoscope of couture and high fashion: creamy peach satin, white fur coats, lords in their sharply-tailored suits and tuxedos, ladies in elaborately wild headpieces and embellished ball gowns that ranged from chartreuse chiffon and teal taffeta to lavender lace and pink feather boas. Somewhere, the piano serenaded the room with a tune lavished in luxury. The air was crisp with caviar and Pinot Noir and delusions of grandeur. The majestic frescoes of angels on the gilded ceiling and the massive tapestries on the white walls were once the main attraction of the chamber; now, it was as if every rich person in the room demanded to be the center of attention.

And soaked in the middle of all this opulence was Briony, nauseous and itching to go home.

With all the keynote speeches and awarding ceremonies done and over with, Briony was left alone by her lonesome in the Kingsglaive’s designated table. Sharing a common distaste for champagne, Nyx was kind enough to go out of his way to get drinks for the both of them. As for their other Glaive companions, they made a beeline for the bar and was dead set to make the most out of the free-flowing alcohol that they could consume, as sponsored by these herds of wealthy animals.

As Briony mindlessly massacred the slice of cheese on her plate into minute little pieces, she watched guests come and go from the discomfort of her seat. Apart from the roaming men and women in white shirts passing either champagne flutes or crab-and-avocado toasts, there were familiar faces Briony had seen in the newspapers or on television whose names were completely lost to her. The only people in the room Briony could properly identify amongst this sea of strangers were King Regis and Noctis, both in their regal raiments and refined comportment, mingling with a group of dukes and nobles. There was Prompto, busy taking pictures and covering the event. Lord Clarus was with Captain Drautos, Cor, and Ignis—all four of them dressed to the nines, each with a champagne glass in hand, huddled in what seemed to be a discussion of grave importance. And then there was also Amara Pax, a walking masterpiece and purposely unattainable in her boat-neck green dress. Briony had no intention of ever speaking to her after that distasteful squabble at Vivienne Westwood’s, so she tried her best to stay out of her way as possible. She searched the crowd, hoping to find Iris or Gladio… but there was no sign of the Amicitia siblings anywhere.

The piano began to wail with a melancholic symphony. Snatches of laughter and conversation only drowned out its music. The whole chamber was a battlefield of social graces; empty pleasantries clashed with politely decorated insults. _What a delightful evening,_ shouted one man passing by her table. _Bold move to invite his Kingsglaive tonight,_ snapped another.

The more Briony listened, the more her heart tightened. She could slowly hear the noise inside her head, growing sharper and louder and angrier.

_We don’t belong here, these assholes don’t even know what we went through, what am I doing here—_

“Why are you all here by yourself, Cupcake?”

As if to crush her foreboding thoughts, the familiar rugged voice was eerily comforting that Briony swiveled in her seat.

And there was Gladio looming over her, striking and handsome in his black three piece suit.

“Hi!” Briony abruptly stood out of relief, her smile coming off as a bit strained. “It’s… you look quite dashing, Gladio.”

“Thanks. And you…” Gladio gave Briony a once-over and a pleasant smile grew on his face. He patted her arm and went on to say, “You look... absolutely gorgeous.”

Briony‘s sigh trembled. “Thank you—“

“And you also look like you’re about to vomit anytime soon.” Gladio narrowed his eyes at her.

“Yes.” Briony admitted with a nervous chuckle and rambled, “There’s way too many people and I think I’m dying. Like, I can’t breathe and I honestly want to hide under the table—“

“Ronnie, _relax—_ where’s Nyx?” Gladio clasped Briony’s bare shoulders. If there was anyone in this wretched place who knew the gravity of Briony’s social anxiety, it was Gladio.

Briony inhaled sharply. Gladio smelled of a soft musky cologne that seemed to calm her nerves. “He’s… out there getting drinks.”

“Okay, then before I go back to Iris, I’ll sit here with you while we wait for him.” Gladio pulled out a chair and took a seat. He motioned for Briony to do the same.

“So how’s Iris doing?” Briony resumed fiddling the butchered cheese with her fork. Gladio sternly stared at her before he snatched the plate away.

His voice deeply concerned, Gladio asked, “Hey, do you need me to take you home?”

“No! No, no.” Briony waved a diffident hand and pulled a tight smile. “I’m fine. Just… distract me. Tell me about Iris.”

Gladio’s face was crinkled with worry, but he relented all the same. “Well… she’s all worked up but she’s having fun. There was just a bit of a problem in one of the art pieces that was delivered, but she handled it. Sometimes I can’t believe she’s only fifteen and she’s doing all this shit like a fucking pro.” The beaming glint in Gladio’s eyes was enough indication of how proud he was of his sister’s accomplishment tonight. “So. How’re you? Is it just me or you’re a bit sunburnt?” Gladio poked on a slightly reddened portion of Briony’s shoulder. She swatted his hand away, and he laughed.

“A bit is an understatement.” Briony sighed and told Gladio about her sudden trip to Galahd. Somehow, recounting the memory of it helped her channel a certain kind of comfort that eased into a fond smile. “But… yeah. It’s been great, it’s unreal—“

“Shit, sorry for taking so long—look, Maxx’s here!” Behind Gladio, Nyx waltzed in with Maxx in tow, the both of them equipped with a bottle of beer in hand. Maxx was barely unrecognizable in his tasteful white tux and his stubble-crusted face. But there was no mistaking the signature sandy man bun, the flashy smile, and the hulking figure of a man: the trifecta of Maxx’s traits that Briony could recognize anywhere in a heartbeat.

Nyx excitedly seized Gladio by his shoulders. “Hey, big guy! Long time no see.”

“What’s up, man.” Gladio rose from his seat, bumping fists with Nyx.   

Nyx gestured to Maxx and Gladio, “Maxx, meet Gladio. The son of the fella you were trying to hit on earlier. Gladio, Maxx.”

Gladio snorted an amused chuckle. “Wait, you were flirting with my _dad?”_ Briony stifled her bubbling laughter. True enough, if there was anyone in the room who had the fearless confidence to strike a flirtatious conversation with the one and only Clarus Amicitia, and left that encounter completely unscathed and unharmed, Briony was certain that Maxx was the only one who could rise to that shameless occasion.

“Guilty as charged,” Maxx acknowledged with a salute and a dashing grin. He extended a hand and Gladio accepted to shake it. “Maxwell Tarrant. I have to say, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

“Kind of you to say, sir,” Gladio said with a dashing smile of his own. With the combined presence of Gladio and Maxx and Nyx, they reeked with so much charm and testosterone that it was too much for Briony to handle that she might as well suffocate. Gladio eyed Maxx curiously and asked, “But hold on a sec, are you _the_ Maxx? Ronnie told me of a Galahdian hunter who helped the Glaives. I thought you were—”

“Dead? Nope. I’m very much alive,” Maxx breezily noted with a booming laugh. Nyx and Briony traded knowing and nervous glances. “Fake news, am I right?”

“Right.” Gladio nodded in agreement. He regarded Maxx, Nyx, and Briony and said, “Look, I’d love to stay a little longer, but I gotta go out back and help my sister. It was nice to meet you, Maxx. You guys enjoy the rest of the night.”

As Gladio disappeared into the crowd, Nyx sat across Briony and handed her a bottle of beer. His face looked suddenly troubled. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. You okay?”

Briony took a swig and answered, “Yeah, I’m fine now. I just got uncomfortably anxious earlier. Then Gladio happened to stop by.”

“Okay. Cool.” Nyx held Briony’s hand and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “Brie, just let me know if you need to get outta here—”

“Nope, you two aren’t going anywhere. Yet.” Maxx interrupted as he patted Nyx on the back. “The night is way too young. Also, Briony, I just have to ask: how come you never tapped that guy’s ass?”

Briony tilted her head. “Uh, I beg your pardon?”

“Gladio.” Maxx jerked a thumb over his shoulder. To Nyx, he said, “No offense, man—I love you two together, but damn girl.” Maxx directed his attention at Briony. “Your friend’s a fucking work of art. One hunk of a man. Grade A meat. I could cut myself slapping his face.”

“Oh, Maxx.” Briony laughed. “I love that you like him, but I don’t see Gladio in… you know, _that_ way.”

“But why? I simply don’t understand.” Maxx tossed his hands up. “I thought you had taste, Ronnie. What a shame.”

Nyx cleared his throat. “Why, thanks Maxx for your vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome,” Maxx gripped Nyx by the shoulder. “Oh by the way, hope you don’t mind if I borrow Ronnie for a while? I have to show her something.” He winked at Briony, as if to seal a secret pact without her even knowing what it was.

Perplexed, Briony asked, “Um, what’s this about?”

“Something that you would only appreciate,” Maxx beamed. “I’ll explain along the way.”

“Well, as long as you don’t go pimping Briony to other dudes,” Nyx teasingly suggested, slacking one arm against the chair. “Or have her kidnapped—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be back.” Briony grinned and stood to join Maxx. She turned to Nyx and in a way to assuage his worries, she leaned closer, gently cupped his face, and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips.

Before Briony could even pull away, Nyx grabbed her by the waist. “Please be careful with your heels.”

“Um, why?”

“Because I wouldn’t want you falling for anyone else.”

Briony groaned, playfully shoving Nyx’s smirking face to the side. Meanwhile, Maxx also groaned, but more out of disgust. “You guys are so sweet, but Nyx—you gotta work on that pick up line game. It’s like you haven’t learned anything from me,” Maxx dryly noted as he gallantly offered Briony a hand and escorted her out of the chamber.

 

 

As opposed to the luxurious cacophony that grated the Crepera Chamber, the Grand Hallway of the Royal Museum of Lucis was marinated in an unnerving silence, blanched in glorious marble and antiquity. Not a soul was in sight. From one end to the other, ornately-framed oil paintings and effigies decorated its walls, and the soft echoes of Briony and Maxx’s footsteps almost felt treasonous. A rebellion against the solitude.

“You look gorgeous, by the way,” Maxx said, his low, velvety voice rung deep in the stillness of the corridor. “You remind me so much of Cir—Candela.”

“Really?” Briony asked doubtfully. “I don’t look anything like her. I’m not even half as confident as she was.” To be compared to her mother was deeply flattering, but Briony was baffled by the idea of it. Candela was a formidable woman, beautiful in all angles; Briony was always the awkward, freckled, mismatched-eyed girl who struggled to keep a conversation without wanting another drink.

“You underestimate your charm, Briony Clark.” She could hear the smile in Maxx’s voice. “You have every ounce of her feistiness. And just like her, you have a way of seducing the men around you and crawling right into their hearts. Case in point: Nyx and Gladio—”

“Wait, Gladio?” Briony scoffed. “I’m telling you, Maxx. We’re just really close friends—”

“Which does not exactly grant you the immunity to fall into his romantic radar,” Maxx countered evenly.

“Trust me, I’m not within Gladio’s romantic radar.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because, I’m way too far off his type. If you review his dating history, it’s like looking at a catalogue of a modeling agency. You should see the girls he’s dated—”

“And you should see the way he looks at you.” Maxx grinded into a halt and faced Briony. “Okay, don’t get me wrong—I’m not trying to ruin you and Nyx, ‘cause you guys are so fucking great together. Or ruin your friendship with Gladio for that matter, ‘cause honestly, whatever attraction he has for you, it’s his damn business to figure his shit out. The reason I’m now going on with this is because I don’t want you to keep selling yourself short, Briony. You’re not as invisible as you think you are. Whatever that voice is telling you inside your head, tell it to shut the fuck up. Also, I really do mean to keep that promise I made you. I may not be as formal and classy as Gentiana, but as your Messenger best friend, I will always be brutally honest with you—even if it means that I have to give you a master class on how to be confident, or to force your eyes open that there are other people who like you just the way you are.”

Briony considered Maxx for one heartwarming moment. While she could not decide on how to process that tidbit about Gladio, she allowed herself to be overwhelmed with gratitude instead. Briony never found it easy to make friends, and for Maxx to be presenting her this kind of friendship like a grocery sampler that one could take for free seemed so… out of this world. Just like he was. “Thank you, Maxx. Really.” Briony chewed on her lip to keep herself from tearing up. She mumbled, “I kind of want to cry for that awfully touching reassurance, but Crowe’s gonna kill me if she sees that I ruined this makeup.”

“I, too, would share Crowe’s sentiments ‘cause girl you are rockin’ that fake eyelashes.” Maxx grinned. With a nudge on her shoulder, he said, “Now c’mon—let’s keep walking. The painting’s not far ahead.”

Briony and Maxx walked past more canvasses and more sculptures. The farther they went, the more each piece were intricately carved and designed. The air was sharp with faint varnish and thick with ancient history. It was uncomfortably cold.

“Hey, Maxx.” Briony came closer to Maxx, slightly hobbling in her heels. “I was just wondering… you called Mom a different name. Circe. Is that… her real name?”

“You can say that.” Maxx jammed his hands in his pockets and glanced at Briony. “It’s the name bestowed to her by Ifrit when she was brought to existence.”

“So... is it right for me to conclude that you lied to us and Maxwell Tarrant is not your real name?”

“Ha! See, you are as smart-ass as Candela.” Maxx’s booming voice pierced the air. “Yes. Maxwell Tarrant is a name I found on a hunter’s name tag. In case you haven’t noticed, us Messengers are sentimental fuckers.”

“I see.” Briony nodded. “But does it get confusing? What you call one another—”

“Wait, you’re not even curious to know what my real name is?” Maxx stopped again and turned to Briony.

“I feel like... it’s something private.” Briony shrugged. “And I don’t want to pry if it’s something you’re not comfortable sharing...”

“Aren’t you a darling.” With a bright smile, Maxx confessed, “Well… Haikili’s my real name. But to address your questions…” He heaved a deep breath and went on, “Some of us tend to let go of our original names like a rite of passage: a way for us to start anew and carry on with a fresh start at life. Whatever name or alias that we decide to give ourselves going forward, it’s only common decency to respect that. Names are a powerful thing. Calling us by our original names is deeply personal. It’s like… if I start calling you by your middle name without your consent, you’d feel uncomfortable. That kind of thing.”

“I… get it.” Briony smiled meekly and offered, “And don’t worry, I won’t call you by your real name. Wouldn’t want you to zap me with lightning or whatever it is that you do.”

“Ronnie, I would _never_ even dare lay a finger on you.” Maxx laughed and started walking away. “Besides, I don’t want your horrible mother putting me to a torch.”

“You two... seemed to be close,” Briony guessed. Her feet was already aching miserably as she limply followed Maxx.

“Very. She was the only one who understood my troublemaking streak—oh look, here it is. The newly installed painting.”

Maxx pointed to a massive canvas, an oil painting that depicted a group of people dining together in what seemed to be the days of yore. Briony looked at the silver plaque just below the elaborately-carved golden frame, which had an inscription that read:  

> _Somnus Lucis Caelum (b. 1990 A.E.)_
> 
> _The First Lucian Council, 1963 A.E._
> 
> _Oil on canvas_

“Somnus Lucis Caelum...” Briony muttered. “Isn’t he the first king of Lucis? He painted this? I don’t remember reading anywhere that he knew how to paint…”

“The man was gifted with many talents, I can assure you.” Maxx confirmed. “According to my sources, some mysterious benefactor managed to unearth this relic recently and generously decided to donate this to the museum. When I heard of it, I knew I had to see it.”

“I never knew you had a soft spot for art.” Briony crossed her arms. “So this is the reason why you came here tonight?”

“Yeah. Kind of. And I’m also curious as to how you mortals party these days,” Maxx quipped. “Apparently, y’all are still boring.” They both laughed.

Briony went on to examine the painting in detail. The broad strokes, the vivid colours. She noticed that each person on the long table wore a unique expression on their face…

And that’s when she saw her mother.

Or at least, a woman who uncannily resembled her. And there was someone who looked like Johanna, too—the same silver hair and pale, stern face. And Hestia, the young black girl she saw in her dreams, bearing the similar white patches on her skin.

“Wait, is this…” Briony faltered.

_So that’s why he had to see it. Of course._

Dubiously, she looked up at Maxx, whose eyes were heavily fixed at the masterpiece before them.

“Somnus didn’t even get the shade of Candela’s hair right, that’s for sure.” Maxx sighed, almost too wistful. He then drifted to the rightmost part of the painting, and pointed at a jovial man with long, blonde hair. “And you wouldn’t guess that this would be me.”

“Wow… he didn’t get your nose right, too.” Briony teased, and Maxx kind of laughed. Morbidly curious, she asked, “Are they all… Messengers?”

“Not all. Some of us decided to live a different life after Solheim fell. During this time, only eight of us remained, under the guise of advisers. And that was me trying to give the helping gig another shot.” Maxx answered. The sadness cracked in his voice. He went on to explain, “The Crystal has not appointed a king yet, but there was us—a sort of ruling council that helped govern the land. Somnus loved to spend time with us, even if he was always behind his drawing pad. He loved making art, that boy. Drawing people’s portraits was his way of expressing how much he loved them—hence, this painting. But his family did not appreciate his creative pursuits, except for his older brother who always urged him to pick up his paintbrush. And so when the Crystal chose him as king, art was just one of the many things that Somnus had to give up...”

“That’s awful,” Briony mumbled. “What of his older brother?”

“A… tragic casualty, as it were. The rest was, in fact, _not_ written in history.” Maxx looked around, frightfully solemn and mournful. Briony thought of the forgotten line of the prophecy, and how most of what she had learned from Maxx did not align to everything she had learned from the history books. Her profound sense of curiosity tugged in her gut, demanding to be unraveled for some form of clarity. She never thought that the mysteries surrounding her mother would actually lead her to the mysteries surrounding the world. He, then, continued, “If you ever wonder why humans never learn from their past mistakes, it’s because they never even value history in the first place—”

“I beg to differ.” Briony found herself bothered by Maxx’s statement that she did not realize she raised that objection _out loud._  She bit her tongue, though it was too late to turn back now that she got Maxx’s full and undivided attention.

“Enlighten me,” Maxx encouraged, a sharp smirk gracing the corners of his mouth.

“Well…” Briony gathered her thoughts, and carefully went on, “I don’t want to speak on behalf of the entire human race, but I think we do value history. Yes, I know it’s not the complete and truthful version, as one of you heavenly beings might expect, because obviously we still have a long way to go in that regard... but the reason why places like museums and libraries and memorials were even built in the first place was for us to always remember and to never forget. We as a people may fall short to the standards of being adequate historians in the universe, but we damn value and respect the fragments of our past—even the worst parts of it—like the sentimental fuckers that we are. And _you_ know exactly what that’s like.” Briony flashed Maxx a smile, and the marveled look on his face only showed how he was left impressed that she cited his own words as a clever reference in her daring rebuttal. “And... I don’t think that we didn’t learn anything from our mistakes. To say that awfully feels like diminishing the sacrifices and efforts of all the brave men and women who fought for Lucis, generation after generation. Sure, we’re slow learners—but we learn. We thrive. If anything, we try to push the needle forward in small steps. At least that accounts for something.”

Maxx took a step back and regarded Briony with a look of astonishment. “Oh, Ronnie," he said, breaking into a delighted laugh that trembled in the gallery’s silence.

Briony frowned. “What? Why? Did I say something wrong—”

“No, no. Not at all,” Maxx beamed at Briony. “It’s just… you really have grossly underestimated yourself, Briony Clark. You have so much of Candela in you, you could combust into flames.”

 

* * *

  

With tired eyes and tired feet, Nyx brought Briony back to Apartment 401 before midnight. Crowe, Libertus, and Pelna heroically urged that they take the Shark, while the trio selflessly suggested that they would join Maxx in his bright yellow Jeep instead. (It still left Briony wondering how Maxx could even afford to have a vehicle in the city, but she did not dare to ask.)

Maybe it had been the three bottles of beer that Briony consumed to survive the night, but as Nyx walked her to her apartment door, she suddenly possessed some form of confidence and courage that she found herself saying four little words:

“You can come inside.”   

Nyx’s eyes widened, like a handsome deer in headlights. “I—uh… sure.”

Briony slapped a hand on her forehead. _Shit, that sounded so wrong._ She swiftly retracted the statement as she babbled, “What I meant was, it’s okay for you to _go inside_ my place. By place, I mean, here. Inside my apartment.”

“Right. Okay.” Nyx shook his head, his face somehow flushed. By alcohol or her strangely suggestive invitation, Briony could not determine surely.

As soon as they got inside, Briony finally rid herself of her god-awful heels and made a beeline for the couch, letting her dress gracelessly sweep the floor. Nyx sheepishly trailed behind her.

“Oh my god, that feels _so good,”_ Briony moaned loudly. Her toes had been aching for hours. “I swear I will never wear that thing again—what’s wrong?”

Briony turned to Nyx and saw him gaping at her. “I, uh… nothing,” he denied, but the look on his face said otherwise. Slowly, Nyx walked over to her and pressed a quick kiss on her lips. “Um, I think I should probably go and let you rest—”

Briony caught the sleeve of his tux. “Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Please stay the night.”

“Okay. Sure.” 

“And I want us to have sex.”

“Okay, sure—wait, what?”

“I said…” Briony hesitated. And all at once, her face was drained with horror and she began to pace back and forth in a panic. “Oh, no. Holy fuck, you don’t want to—”

“No, no, no, Brie—I’m sorry, it’s not like that.” Nyx stopped Briony and sat her down on the couch. He held her face with both hands. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Why else would I ask? Don’t you find me—”

“Oh, c’mon—don’t even finish that sentence.” Nyx admonished with a quirk of his brow. “Brie, you have no idea how much I wanted to fuck the shit out of you when we were back in Galahd. Seeing you in that one piece? And now you’re in this dress—you drive me fucking nuts.”

Briony bit her lip. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously. And… honestly, I want to do it right with you.” Nyx sighed. “Look… I know how you’ve always thought of me as someone who sleeps around, and that’s fair ‘cause it _was_ true. Emphasis on the past tense. And I don’t want to be that person around you, and I don’t want you to think that I’m only trying to get you in bed. Or here in the couch.”

“Or the kitchen counter,” Briony casually added.

Nyx laughed. “Or the shower, maybe.”

“The backseat of the Shark.”

“Kingsglaive locker room.”

“The library seems nice, too.”

“Now that’s a pretty bold suggestion coming from you, Brie.” Nyx’s face was now only a breath away from hers, close enough that Briony swore if his scent had a face, it could be in a fucking movie poster. With a quiver in his voice, he whispered, “Gods, sometimes you just make me so nervous.”

She whispered back, “No, _you_ make me nervous.”

This time, Nyx caught Briony by the back of her neck and sealed her mouth with a kiss. Briony braced her fingers against his chest, briefly pulling away. Taking his hand, she hauled him up and guided him to her bedroom that Nyx almost tripped in his shoes.

“Let’s get you off this thing,” said Nyx, winding an arm around her waist, pressing soft kisses up the top of her spine and along her shoulder. He slowly dragged the zipper of her dress all the way down, letting the fabric slip and pool around her feet, until Briony was only clad in a lacy and racy black bustier. She heard Nyx’s breath hitch. Then, a pause.

Briony worriedly glanced over her shoulder. “Do you like this—”

“Fucking hell, Briony Clark—you’re so beautiful.” Nyx’s grip tightened around her waist. He leaned against her ear and grittily said, “You’re seriously gonna regret wearing that.”

 

 

For the first time in Briony’s life, she felt as if her body could be many beautiful things all at once.

Perhaps it was the way how Nyx made her feel like the sea, how his hands cruised the wave of her hips, her breasts, her thighs.

Perhaps it was how he made her feel like fire, how his fingers struck against her skin and fiercely dipped in the hearth between her legs, an arsonist who set her body in burning pleasure.

Perhaps it was the way how he made a library out of her, how he lovingly read the tragedy of her scars with open-mouthed kisses and learned the parts of her that made her moan.

With their bodies pretzeled into one another, she helplessly dug her fingernails on his back as he violently thrusted his hips, a holy mess of skin slapping against skin. And for the first time in her life, Briony cried out Nyx’s name again and again not out of annoyance but out of blinding ecstasy, out of wanton desire, out of all the beautiful things that he made her body feel as he exhausted every inch of her all throughout the night.

 

 

Briony woke up aching and sore, but when she found the other side of her bed was empty, a heavy feeling wrung her chest.

Nyx was gone.

_I should have known._

There was no sign of him around her room, not even his clothes. A part of her wanted to be angry at Nyx, but mostly she was just angry at herself. She was so angry at herself that she clutched on her sheets, not realizing soon enough that she was crying, because how could she be so stupid to be played for a fool? How could she actually be so fucking stupid to believe that Nyx would never just fuck her and leave—

“Hey, I made you bacon and eggs… shit, what’s wrong?”

Briony was stunned to see Nyx standing on her doorway, and she looked at him as if she was seeing an apparition. And if this was Nyx’s apparition, it was incredibly rude of him to casually saunter in her bedroom in just his boxer briefs.

But it was really Nyx, and he sat on the edge of the bed beside her, looking incredibly worried.

Wiping away her tears, Briony sniffed. “I thought… you left.”

Nyx laughed and tucked a strand from her messy bed hair behind her ear. “Babe, I only stepped out to make you breakfast, ‘cause you were sleep-talking about being so hungry you could eat a garula.”

“Really?” Briony was confused on which information to process first: the fact that Nyx prepared breakfast for her or the fact that she had been sleep-talking.

“Yes. Really.” Nyx grinned. “And Brie, I love you too much to just leave you after that hell of a night.”

Briony blinked. Now she was confused if she could process that information at all, so she blurted out, “I’m sorry, what?”

A cheeky smirk curled on the side of Nyx’s mouth. “I said,” he gently traced her cheek with his thumb as he repeated, _“I love you too much_ to just leave—”

“Great. Cool, cool, cool.” Briony nodded and muttered, “Nice. Got it.”

Nyx narrowed his eyes at her.

“I love you, too. So much.” Briony’s distraught face softened to a warm smile. “So much that I almost thought of personally killing you when I thought you just left me here.” Nyx shook his head, and he tackled Briony with soft, sloppy kisses until they both laughed and ached with so much laughter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Just some random stuff:
> 
> 1\. I can't believe I forgot this, but! Some fun fashion inspo for the Lucian Gala thing: [Briony's dress](http://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com/post/116467170793/fashion-runways-hamda-al-fahim-couture) & [Crowe's.](http://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com/post/157570026393/minrd-christian-dior-spring-2017-ready-to-wear)  
> Also, I'm a slut for menswear, and can you imagine Nyx in this goddamn [tux](https://photos.laineygossip.com/articles/idris-colin-met-03may16-06.jpg)?  
> 2\. Now that I've reached this chapter, I have finally updated the tags with eventual smut or mild smut or anything related to smut. I know the smuttage in this chapter isn't as extensive or detailed as how I usually write it, but yeah. There's more to that in this long ass journey, because I'm a self-indulgent bitch.  
> 3\. The updates will be really slow from here on out, but at this point, I have to give a heads up that Chapters 20-27 requires a good dosage of wine or ice cream. Or both. 
> 
> I genuinely thank everyone for sticking around this far!


	20. Gladiolus Amicitia

In the four months that followed after the Lucian Gala, whilst religiously devoting an inordinate amount of time to his personal fitness regimen, Gladio desperately wanted to keep himself insanely busy.

For starters: Gladio—after months of being coaxed into attending the ruling council meetings by his father—miraculously volunteered and finally decided to take part in the mind-numbing sessions that mostly revolved around the Lucian state of affairs. His father was awfully pleased with Gladio’s change of heart that he eagerly involved his son to take on other tasks. Given this development, Gladio’s mornings were now a caffeine-infused hustle in the Citadel: he pored over important updates from both the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive, reviewed piles of reimbursement reports, sifted through drifts of letters and proposals, studied every strategy and crisis management plan implemented across Insomnia until his brain could no longer register another word. Gladio was a voracious reader, but he never thought that something would ever suck the joy out of reading until he came across the volumes of documentation sitting on his father’s desk. Though these tasks had been tedious and daunting at best, it afforded Gladio an opportunity to deeply grasp his father’s responsibilities and its daily intricacies. Whatever Gladio lacked in experience, he made up for his enthusiasm to learn the ropes, tricky as it may be. In the process, Gladio finally understood why anyone would want to consume three cups of coffee or four cans of Ebony in a day. The work in the Citadel demanded everyone to function like a person who knows no rest.

If Gladio’s mornings were mentally taxing, his afternoons had grown to be physically challenging. Cor had proposed some significant changes in Noctis’s and Prompto’s combat drills, which Gladio happily obliged to facilitate. Of course, considering his physical prowess, this was already right up his alley. There was nothing much for him to complain in this department…

Except days ago, Cor made one minor revision that somehow bothered him.

The newly endorsed training circuit would now heavily rely on advanced warping techniques. Which meant Cor had to employ the help from someone in the Kingsglaive.

Noctis and Prompto immediately assumed it would be Ronnie, but they all knew she was not promoted to the ranks yet, so they sadly dismissed the idea. They had not been seeing her as often as they used to after she had been swamped by Captain Drautos with new responsibilities—a fact Gladio had discovered all thanks to his daily morning review of the Kingsglaive’s weekly rotations. Besides, though Ronnie sometimes sneaked out of her paperwork in the Kingsglaive HQ and joined the trio in their training sessions (or _torture_ sessions, as Noctis and Prompto called it), she admitted she was not good enough to teach anyone the wretched art of warping when she herself still ended up throwing up from time to time.

Apparently, the only one qualified by Cor’s standards to fit the bill was no less than Nyx Ulric himself.

It was important to note that Gladio did not have anything against Nyx, nor was there any bad blood simmering between them. Surely, in terms of fighting capabilities, Gladio and Nyx were diametrically opposed, but together they made a frightening tandem that Cor deemed beneficial for both Noctis and Prompto. Where as Gladio was a champion of strength and stamina, Nyx was a menace of speed and dexterity. And while it was true that they had been pitted against each other ever since Gladio was sixteen and was punished to spend three months under the ruthless tutelage of the Kingsglaive (a small consequence he had to suffer after recklessly injuring Ronnie when he honestly expected Cor to end his life), Gladio saw Nyx playing the role of a typical elder brother he wished he had: annoyingly competitive, yet profoundly supportive. Contrary to everyone’s belief, theirs was a friendship rooted in ridiculously petty contests: crazy duels, drinking games, bouts of arm wrestling, and even braiding matches to see who could please Iris with their hairstyling skills. (Iris was the only one who benefited this competition, one that Nyx always easily won much to Gladio’s dismay.) But what truly solidified their brotherhood was how they treated each other as equals, regardless of their age, upbringing, or background. Gladio valued their mutual respect and honesty, and so did Nyx.

But as far as honesty was concerned at this point, Gladio was in deep shit.

Because the whole point of keeping himself busy was to distract himself from the bitter longing that had been haunting him for the past excruciating months. He did not need a trigger for the gun, a match to light the fuse. Because if he were to be honest, Ronnie and Nyx wore their love like a heavy perfume, and being within their proximity suffocated Gladio with unreasonable fits of irritation. Seeing Ronnie was already painful enough as it is; the thought of seeing her with Nyx on a daily basis was more than he could bear. And as much as Gladio prided over his tolerance for pain, the one he nursed so close to his chest was killing him—

“Amicitia! Watch out—” In an instant, the voice that shoved Gladio back to the present morphed into a bright trail of blue and purple sparks that fizzled in the air as Nyx materialized beside him, promptly warping him out of the way of Noctis’s fire spell. (When did he even learn how to cast _firaga?)_ Together, they careened and crashed violently on the other side of the training hall, leaving a cracked dent on the wall and sending a good portion of the armory of wooden swords flying out of the racks.

For a moment that Gladio was sprawled on the ground, he was too stunned to move. His ears rang, so did every part of his body, a rattle of aching muscle and bones.

 _No wonder half of the Kingsglaive’s medical expenses are on anti-nausea pills,_ Gladio thought sourly, still wincing at the pain in his head. Not far away, a rush of footsteps hurried across the floor. A flurry of frantic voices hovered all around him. The ceiling was a blur, and so were the faces that seemed to spin overhead.

As Gladio rolled to his side, Nyx knelt before him, offering a hand. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, Flower Boy—”

“Gladio!” Ronnie pushed Nyx out the way, staggering to a halt and falling on her knees beside him. Behind Ronnie, Noctis and Prompto stood anxiously. True to her nature as a medic, she wasted no time checking on Gladio, carefully inspecting if he had incurred any serious injury. Even in his disoriented state, all Gladio could think about was how Ronnie’s hands were so soft and warm, the familiar scent of her flowery perfume, and the way she delicately cupped his face, her eyes glued to the small cut on his forehead...

A dull ache smothered his chest. Gladio squeezed his eyes shut.

_Not a good time, idiot. Get your shit together._

As Gladio hauled himself slowly to sit up, Ronnie worriedly said, “Hey, you’re bleeding—“

“I’m fine, Ronnie.” Gladio spat out, all too sharply. As soon as he said it, the sudden pang of regret was even sharper.

“Um, right. Okay...” Ronnie chewed on her lip, pressing her palms against her knees, looking just as startled as everyone else. She surveyed Gladio with a look that almost said, _What the fuck was that about?_ Turning to Nyx, she stood up and said, “Babe, I’ll just run back at the HQ and grab a couple of potions. Don’t let this buffoon out of your sight.”

Nyx laughed mirthlessly. “Got it—“

“Ronnie, you don’t have to—“ Gladio shook his head and raised a hand in hardheaded protest. “See, I’m fine—“ While a sickening feeling curled at his stomach, Gladio pursued to steady himself back on his feet, only to end up stumbling and being caught by Nyx and Noctis on both his sides. That was enough for Gladio to get his ass to sit back down.

“For fuck’s sake, I know you hate losing so much but can you quit being stubborn for once?” Ronnie folded her arms over her chest and sneered at Gladio, her eyes hard and stern. “And if I ever see you out of this room I swear to all the gods I will kill you myself.”

Gladio rolled his eyes and said nothing.

“Wait—I’ll go with you, Ronnie!” Prompto volunteered with an awkward toothy smile. He begged Nyx, “Can we take a break, sir? Please? Pretty please—“

“Hey, I’ll come with you guys,” Noctis piped in, rushing to sidle up to Ronnie.

“Yeah, sure—go right ahead.” Nyx shrugged, slumping on the floor and sitting cross legged beside Gladio. “And stop calling me ‘sir’, Prompto. It’s disgusting.”

Prompto eagerly nodded and raised a thumbs up. “Okay, mate. Bruh. Bish.”

As the three of them spun and trotted out of the room, Noctis waved back and said with an impish grin: “Be right back. Please try not to murder each other.”

Before Nyx or Gladio could even parry with a quip against the occasionally obnoxious prince, the both of them were already left alone in an agonizing silence.

Too bad for Gladio, Nyx was never the type to prolong any sort of agony.

“Wanna tell me what went wrong back there?” asked Nyx, a look of concern all over his face. He stretched one leg on the floor and pulled the other close to his chest, leaning one arm against one knee. If Nyx was even the slightest bit of upset, he did an exceptional job not to show any sign of it.

“It was nothing,” Gladio answered flatly. “I let my guard down—“

“But that’s the thing, man—“ Nyx lolled his head back, drawing out a small sigh— “you _never_ let your guard down. Even from His Highness.”

“I’m tellin’ you, Nyx—it’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re being ridiculous—“

“Don’t make me spell it out for you, Gladio.”

“What are you driving at?”

“You have feelings for Briony.”

Gladio was at a loss on what to say. The silence that followed was mired with disdain, it almost stung. To begin with, this was not a subject Gladio wished to discuss with Nyx, let alone hear from him the exact same thing he had been working so hard to forget all along. Man of virtue he may be, Gladio could not even dare to bring himself to honour this simplest form of honesty: the one he owed to himself.  

And so, what Gladio said next was a futile attempt at denial as he avoided Nyx’s burning gaze: “That’s… not true—“

“And that’s where I’m calling your bullshit.” Nyx scowled at Gladio, shaking his head in obvious disappointment. “Fuck you for lying to my face. I mean, _really?_ Your whole reaction just confirms it.”

Gladio glowered hotly. _“Confirm?_ What does that even—“

“To be honest—“ Nyx scratched his cheek, flashing a cocky smile— “I was scared to know what your answer would be if I pulled that bluff, but gods—you’re so fucking transparent!”

Gladio wanted to punch the living daylights out of Nyx’s smug face, but decided—with extreme effort and consideration for self-preservation—not to go through it. Instead, he managed to douse his slowly flaring temper with a sharp breath and said, “Well, aren’t you a fucking asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” Nyx shot back. Weirdly enough, they both laughed. Nyx leaned his head back against the wall and continued, “Y’know, I see the way you look at her… and just—“ he looked at Gladio sternly, but his face suddenly tugged a smug smirk— “fuck, I can’t believe I just said that.”

Gladio arched an eyebrow. “Said what?”

“I mean, this conversation sounds like we’re two people stuck in a fucking rom-com,” said Nyx dryly, shaking his head. Gladio barked a wry laugh because funnily enough—despite how depressing his predicament was—it really was almost too cheesy for their tastes. And as far as Gladio knew Nyx, Gladio was aware that this whole scenario was not Nyx’s cup of tea. Nyx was the resident cool guy: the dashing bachelor every woman desired to be with, the war hero every man saw as the hallmark of everything they should be. Almost everyone loved to loathe and loathed to love Nyx, and Gladio was no exception.

Which was why—oddly enough, given again his depressing predicament—Gladio found a speck of comfort in Nyx’s ironic amusement.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say—” Nyx pressed on, turning to Gladio— “I won’t ask you to stay away from Briony. That’s bullshit. I know how important you are to her—you’ve known each other since you guys were kids, and between the two of us, you’re the OG best friend. And as her OG best friend… don’t you think you should tell her?”

Something about Nyx’s cool display of confidence suddenly irked Gladio. “Are you fucking kidding me? If I tell her, things will get awkward, and I can’t have that—“

“C’mon, Gladio—give Briony a little more credit than that. So you’d rather let those feelings of yours eat you up and slip right through by lashing out on her? ‘Cause what happened back there when she was only helping you out—I know you guys fight, but man… that was off.”

Gladio fell silent. He should have known Nyx would be quick enough to notice that mishap. The guilt only grated his gut.

Not a moment later, Gladio spoke. “But wait, I don’t get why you’re so cool about… _this,”_ he admitted hesitantly. _“_ How can you be okay with the idea of me just telling her _—"_

“For fuck’s sake—me, cool and okay with _you_ having feelings for your best friend who happens to be _my_ girlfriend?” Nyx scoffed, eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment, as if Gladio had said the most ridiculous insult in the history of all insults. “I’m relieved that I come across that way, but honestly—I’m worried, you beautiful dipshit.” Running a hand through his braids, Nyx chuckled wryly and went on, “I love Briony. I really do. I know she loves me, too. And I’d do anything for her happiness. I’m not the jealous type but I mean, c’mon—let’s be real. You’re my friend, too, Gladio… and I’m not dumb. You’re smart, rich, handsome… and if I take that all into account, I’m at a disadvantage here—“

“Stop, no—“

“No, listen. Hear me out, will ya? Look, I trust Briony. But the thought of her choosing you over me—“ Nyx pursed his lips, his face softened by an inexplicable sadness— “I… I would probably let her. If being with you makes her happy, then fuck—I’d give her my heart and let her break it. I’ll be damn honoured to have her ruin me to pieces. I can live with that. It’s just… I really, _really_ don’t want to.”

Gladio regarded Nyx in awed silence. Apart from his father, Gladio had never met anyone else who spoke of their love for their significant other so ardently, so selflessly.

And for what it’s worth, Gladio never expected it from someone like Nyx.

“You must really… you do love Ronnie, huh.” Gladio said with an almost derisive sigh.

“What can I say?” Nyx laughed. “She’s… she’s the fucking love of my life. Even after all the kind of shit I did all these years, all the time I’ve pissed her off… she could’ve left me to die rotting on my wounds, you know? But man, Briony did me a kindness when she nursed me back to good shape. And every single time she shows me that, I just... I don’t think I will ever deserve her.”

Gladio clicked his tongue. “To be fair, I don’t think anyone else does either.”

“Yeah.” Nyx nodded, cracking a smile. “But I want to deserve her. I want to be that person for her.” As Nyx stood and helped Gladio up, he continued, “Look. I know I’m the last person you want to hear this from—and honestly I can’t believe I’m saying this—but bottling up one’s feelings never did any good to anybody. Personally, I’d rather come clean and face rejection, than taking out all the pent up frustration on other people. Especially on your friends.” He gave Gladio a firm grip on the shoulder, before he sauntered to the pile of wooden weapons scattered on the floor and began to clean up the mess they made.

 

 

That evening—and much like every other evening for the last couple of months—Gladio deemed it fit to drown his own miserable mess of emotions at Varma’s.

The Varma siblings were kind enough to open their doors for Gladio even after their store hours. Normally, the bookstore café didn’t serve alcohol, but both Adrika and her twin brother, Avani, never failed to indulge Gladio with a bottle or two. In Gladio’s helpless defense, Varma’s had been his thing before it had been Ronnie and Nyx’s. For a public place, Gladio felt oddly territorial about it, which was pretty much a petty feeling to get worked up on. Besides, in his staunch yet helpless defense, it was him who first met the Varma twins during one hiking trip with his dad, which eventually led to an invitation that brought him to the discovery of this quiet garden of quaint treasures: endless rows of old books and pages of poetry, shelves of scented candles and earthen jars, potted ferns and aloe plants and fiddle leaf figs. Here at Varma’s, every corner was cultivated with whimsical novelties. Here, every space bloomed with jazz music and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Here, everywhere was a perfect distraction. And here, Gladio felt a little less lonely.

Moreover, Gladio enjoyed the company of the Varma twins—with or without the booze. Adrika was usually the one who stirred the conversation into motion, while Avani quietly listened from time to time. Despite their shared candor, tart humour, and keen interest with science fiction, indie music, and meticulous gardening methods, the siblings made quite a pair of polar opposites: Adrika was comely and curvy; Avani was tall and lanky. Adrika let her wavy, black hair primly cascade past her shoulders; Avani kept his tastefully short, windswept and messy. She was immensely outgoing and rough around the edges; he was painfully shy and soft-spoken. She was a candid critic and spoke with a sharpness of an old friend; he was a guarded gentleman—but only a fool would fall into the trap of his quiet nature when Avani imparted wisdom with a quiet audacity of a frightening foe. Though the Varma twins exhibited stark contrasts in their personalities, still they were bound by their similarities in more ways than one: cappuccino skin, defined cheekbones, molten brown eyes and a warm smile made to welcome a lost soul back home.

In the nights that Gladio had frequented Varma’s, what he truly appreciated was how Adrika and Avani never seemed to pry too deep into the details of Gladio’s personal affairs. Though they maintained a respectable distance, the Varma twins fostered encouragement like family, offered advice like an honest friend. Though considering how Gladio had been their most faithful patron, the siblings were already too familiar with all the string of women Gladio ever brought in their café. Avani even joked (a proven rare occasion for someone like Avani, one Gladio wished he had documented for posterity’s sake) how—for instance, should it ever happen—if Gladio arranged a reunion for all his exes, he could probably stage a fashion show altogether. Adrika only teased that she would pay a truckload of money to make it happen.

But tonight, there was no conversation to be had. No witty quips, no exchange of banter.

Adrika and Avani only watched with worry and concern how Gladio wordlessly went behind _their_ counter, a crestfallen look on his face, snatching a glass and a bottle of their best scotch. Gladio filled the glass to the rim, and knocked back a shot, one after another. He let the liquor rage down his throat, again and again, until all he could feel was the dizzying pleasure of burning, of hurting, of numbing all at once.

 

* * *

  

_A particular thought experiment in philosophy posed an interesting question that went: If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?_

_In that regard, can the same thing be asked of the human heart? If the heart falls in love and no one is there to catch it, does it make a sound when it breaks? When no one knows of its misery, does it bleed? Is it even supposed to hurt at all?_

 

* * *

Bright afternoon sun woke Gladio in a painful daze. Piecing together the images of the barren white walls and the gray sheets, he figured he was in his bed in 23A Hampton Street: half-naked in his boxers, sticky with sweat, yet somehow freezing in the air-conditioned cold. A mind-splitting headache was tearing him to pieces, and a coppery taste lingered in his mouth. He could still smell the reek of vomit under his breath.

Gladio slowly rolled on his back, still feeling that he could hurl if he moved another inch. With strained effort, he sat up as carefully as he could...

And there across the room was Amara Pax, elegantly sitting on the armchair in jarringly plain clothing of white shirt and jeans, looking up from her phone as she regarded Gladio with a smile.

She rose from her seat and waltzed toward the bed. “Finally, you’re awake—”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Gladio growled, trying to contain the fresh shudder of nausea. Everything from last night was lost to him. The only thing he could remember was that he had been at Varma’s, and anything that happened after he had taken over Adrika and Avani’s stash of scotch was completely foggy to him.

_Shit, shit, shit._

“You know, a little ‘thank you’ would suffice,” Amara sat at the edge of the bed, keeping a very decent space between her and Gladio. She curled a finger at the tip of her ponytail. “Avani called me last night, said you were so fucking hammered you needed a little help getting home.”

Gladio groaned, rubbing his stubbled cheek with the palm of his hand. “And you what? Came down to the rescue just like that?”

“You think I’m not capable of doing any act of kindness?” Amara just stared at him. “Actually, I wouldn’t have gone there—but I was in the area. I just moved my lab in Central Avenue. And I should probably thank you for getting me into crossfit—carrying you out of my car was a workout.”

Gladio reached for the back of his neck and looked at Amara, as if it was the first time he was truly seeing her. Has it truly been months since he saw her last? Amara seemed to be doing exceptionally well, still lean and lithe, still radiant and golden and outrageously beautiful. The mental image of her dragging his poor drunk ass home only burdened Gladio with shame. “I, uh… thank you. For that.” Gladio muttered awkwardly, “I can’t believe of all people Avani had to call, it just had to be you.”

“Well, he thought you and I were still together.” She crossed her legs and primly placed her hands over her knee, averting Gladio’s gaze. “I told him that we’ve broken up, so you can imagine how awkward that had been when I had to explain that part, and why I even bothered to show up.”

Gladio raised an eyebrow. “So why did you?”

“I was curious to see how miserable you are without me.” Amara turned sharply to face Gladio. For a moment, her face was stone-cold blank, but her mouth curved into a warm smile.

“Why, of course.” Gladio coughed a laugh and rolled his eyes. He fumbled to reach for his phone sitting on his bedside table when he saw his clothes strewn all over the floor. Hesitantly, Gladio turned to Amara. “So, um… I don’t want to be presumptuous but did something—did we—?”

“Have sex? Oh, gods no.” The disgusted look on Amara’s face only expressed how revolted she was with the mere idea. Folding her arms over her chest, she said, “How can I possibly sleep with a man who keeps whining another girl’s name? You kept saying Briony’s name over and over.”

Amara was obviously teasing, but Gladio was suddenly hit with embarrassment and a new wave of nausea rising to his throat. _Now that’s an all time low,_ he thought wryly. Clasping his head and burying his face in his hands, he tried to formulate any meaningful response to redeem himself from this moment.

Stressfully, he looked at Amara and said, “I’m _really_ sorry, Ames—”

“No, don’t.” Amara shook her head, turning away. “I knew that. I think it’s safe to say that I knew it first before you even had the balls to realize it.”

When Gladio only drew a sharp breath and said nothing, she continued: “To be fair, I should be the one apologizing. For being an asshole. And before you get the wrong idea—I’m not here to seduce you back into my life, or whatever it is I need to do to prove that I’m better.” She tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “I know things didn’t work out between us and I admit, I was a bad girlfriend to you when you’ve only been good to me. But you know, before we started screwing each other… we were actually pretty good friends.”

Gladio huffed a sad smile. “The only thing we got right, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Amara nodded. “And I really hate to admit this, but you really are good in bed.”

“Really? I must have forgotten.” Gladio cocked his head, weakly pulling a devilish smirk. “I think I may need a refresher—”

“Oh don’t press your luck, big guy. Not gonna happen again.” Amara dismissively waved a hand, laughing. “Not when you’re pining for someone else.”

“Ouch.” Gladio held his hand to his chest, mouth curled into a sheepish grin. Somehow, a part of Gladio missed this: being in good terms with Amara, the way things were with her before it went downhill and batshit insane. He could not fathom how at some point in his life, things really had been different between the both of them. That true enough, they had been friends. It felt like it had been ages ago since they hung out at Varma’s trading book recommendations, or the spontaneous camping trips, or those late night conversations that ranged from the slowly dying ecosystem to their bitter sentiments towards the reputation of their respective noble houses.

But a large part of him—the rational yet irrevocably selfish part—knew that it was not Amara he missed. He only missed the feeling.

Scratching a cheek, Gladio glanced at Amara. “Hey, Ames?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing okay, right? With you and your family?”

Amara considered Gladio, her face stiffened by an expression that tiptoed between surprise and sadness. Casually forcing a smile, she said, “I think that’s a conversation best saved with a stiff drink.”

Gladio narrowed his eyes at her. “Should I hold you onto that?”

“What are friends for, right?” Amara shrugged. “Anyway, there’s Tylenol at the leftmost kitchen cabinet. And bananas.” She briskly got up, already making her way out of his apartment door. Halfway, she looked back at Gladio and said, “Eat and rest up. And try not to do anything stupid.”

Gladio offered her a salute. He watched her shut the door behind her, leaving him to return to his miseries.

 

 

For the rest of the afternoon, Gladio had peacefully slept like a log until he was woken up by the incessant screeching of his doorbell.

Hurriedly, he put on a shirt and woozily shuffled to open the door. Whatever peace he found from his much needed sleep was officially disrupted when he saw Ronnie, arms crossed over her chest, eyes flaring with impatience.

Out of exasperation, Gladio snarled, “Ronnie, this isn’t a good time—”

“I figured you'd be here—Iris called and told me you didn't come home last night. Is your phone dead? I’ve been texting you, and you haven’t been replying.” Ronnie pushed her way inside his apartment, completely ignoring Gladio.

Gladio scoffed. “Now you know what it feels like when your messages get neglected.”

“Whatever. This was pretty urgent—”

“Look, can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m really not in the mood—”

“You’ve been drinking.” Ronnie wandered around the room, meticulously assessing Gladio’s mess. There were banana peels scattered on the kitchen counter, a bottle of Tylenol on his bedside table, a puddle of water and a communal heap of dirty clothes all over the floor. A smear of dried vomit still soiled his pillowcase. The stench of sweat and yesterday’s bad decisions incensed the air. Ronnie’s irritation melted into worry. “Gladio, what happened? What’s wrong—”

“Can you stop being so paranoid all the time?” Gladio said sharply, fists clenched in his irrational indignation. As much as he appreciated Ronnie’s willful concern, he needed some time to get his act together. And now was definitely not the time. For good measure, he added, “Trust me—nothing’s wrong and I’m fine.”

“Seriously, this again?” Ronnie whirled to face Gladio and shot him a furious glare. “Do you honestly think I’ll buy your bullshit?”

In a dangerously low voice, Gladio snapped back under his breath, “Honestly, I don’t care, and it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Wow, okay! That’s new—you’ve always made sure everything was my business.”

“For once, I want you to get off my back and stop smothering me.”

“What— _I’m_ smothering you? What the actual fuck has gotten into you—”

“You wanna know what’s gotten into me, Ronnie? You really wanna know what’s wrong? Well, I’ll tell ya!” Gladio tossed his hands in the air, his face finally twisting with frustration, his voice rising and cracking with tension. “What’s wrong is that I’m in love with you and now, it’s driving me fucking crazy! I know you’re with Nyx, and it’s cool that you’re happy with him. But fuck… I just—I need some time and space away from you...”

Ronnie offered no response. They both stood staring at each other, engulfed in stunned silence. As the seconds stretched to wordless minutes, it was slowly dawning on Gladio how he had been so absorbed with his own troubles that he failed to notice one significant detail.

“You’re… you’re in your Kingsglaive uniform.” Gladio sheepishly pointed out the obvious.

“Uh, yeah. That’s uh… that’s actually the reason why I came here,” Ronnie stammered, chewing on her bottom lip. “To tell you that we’re being deployed to the Lucian border tonight and since I don’t know when exactly we’re coming back, I kind of wanted to spend some time with you before I leave...”

“Fuck. I didn’t know—" Gladio was overcome with guilt and tried to reach for Ronnie, but she only backed away. "Ronnie, I’m _so_ sorry—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ronnie forced a smile, fighting back her tears. She walked past him, and Gladio could hear her slowly cracking into sobs. Finally, she turned around to look at him and said, “Gladio, I didn't mean to... I’m really, _really_ sorry if I hurt you. I really am.”

If there was anything Gladio wanted to do in that moment, it was to freeze that time and rewind. He wanted to keep Ronnie from leaving and tell her all the things he could possibly tell her in that moment. He wanted to tell her that _No, forget what I said, we could spend this time as much as you want._ He wanted to tell her, _You’re my best friend first and foremost, and I love you and I want you to take care out there._ He wanted to tell her, _Come back to me as soon as you can._

But in that small time that he already had, Gladio said neither of these things. 

The last thing he heard was the soft click as he helplessly watched Ronnie walk out of his door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things, yet again:  
> 1\. When I say I value friendships, I mean every single variety of it—especially the kind that celebrates two guys talking about their feelings, which is what I wanted to portray between the dynamic of Nyx and Gladio because the headcanon I want to carry with me until the end of days is that these two idiots are really good friends.  
> 2\. This has been hellish to edit, because it's pretty much revisiting a very bad memory lmao  
> 3\. Songs to add insult to the angsty injury: Jarryd James' _Claim My Love_ and Daughter's _Landslide_


	21. The Fulgurian's Vagabond

In the beginning, Ramuh the Fulgurian summoned thunder and lightning, molded it into being, and called him Haikili.

Before Haikili assumed the identity of an infamous rogue hunter named Maxwell Tarrant, and before Ramuh finally made him accountable for all his misconduct and madness, he had already been leading an equally infamous existence. Son of a storm and son of a Stormsender, Haikili’s once sunny and dazzling presence among mortals suddenly became a turbulence: a hurricane of a troublemaker, a whirlwind of a man, a face to die for. He played the holy trinity of judge, jury, and executioner, a warring force of nature that cursed wicked men to their deaths and blessed the good ones with unlikely mercy and kindness. (And on certain shameless occasions, he went so far as to charm the _exceptionally_ good ones to his bed.) After the fall of Solheim, what once was his unwavering resolve to protect humanity faltered into a conflicted tug of war between pity and resentment. It simply sickened him how self-conceited mankind had become, how blinded they were by glory and power that they had the audacity to challenge the gods, even hurting innocent people who got in their way. The very notion of it infuriated him. With his extremely unorthodox methods, Haikili offered his generous response: he saw to it to defend the helpless, and anyone who got in _his_ way lost their heads for it.

His debauchery and notoriety aside, and despite his growing army of enemies, Haikili remained affable and agreeable enough for humans to be around him. At first glance, his burly physique and steel gray eyes and overall bad reputation did little help to improve a first impression, but through the sincerity of his actions, it was enough to convince people that they need not fear him. Only a little bit. (“If you ask me, instilling fear is important,” he remembered Circe telling him, glass of wine in hand, a dangerously solemn smile on her face. “Let them get too close and they’ll trample all over you. Besides, the people you should befriend are those who are out there to kill you. Be kind to them, show them the tiniest bit of compassion. Then, when you have finally won their trust, that’s the time you kill them.” Haikili only laughed at this; he knew she was only joking, but it was that moment he surmised that he did not have the luxury to make an enemy out of Circe.) Ignoring Circe’s terribly twisted counsel, Haikili ventured from village to village and funneled every ounce of his energy to extend his help in his own terribly twisted way—like ransacking nearby pirate ships and purging bandit camps and shocking the lives out of many cutthroats and brigands who threatened the slowly thriving communities he was helping to rebuild. To make sure his message was clearly received and understood, he hung the mutilated bodies of criminals as a warning sign for those who would dare to follow their footsteps.

But not everything Haikili ever contributed to society was tainted with violence and bloodshed. Years went by, and as his travels brought him to far-flung corners of Eos—from the mountainous forests of Tenebrae to the rolling fields of Duscae—he shared good bread and mead with farmers reconstructing their homes, lent his strength to hunters foraging for food. He taught children how to read and write. He trained men and women on how to wield a sword.

In exchange, they showed Haikili the power of perseverance. The courage to bounce back from adversities. The brutal resilience of the human spirit.

Just when Haikili had grown increasingly frustrated watching humans commit the same acts of violence upon each other and upon Eos—all the pillaging, the reckless destruction—the people he had met throughout his journey reminded him—restored in him—all the reasons why they were worth fighting for. Why they were worth a shot at redemption. Because more than he could ever care to admit, hiding behind his bloodthirsty rage and his penchant for mischief, his own brethren of Messengers and even the gods themselves knew one thing of Haikili: his love and adoration for humanity would always eclipse his disappointment and resentment.

Besides, Haikili was many things, but he was no saint.

For all of mankind’s flaws and failures, he knew he was no better than any of them.

 

* * *

  

Out of all the handful of friendships Haikili had forged throughout his travels, he would never forget the day he met the young Lucis Caelum brothers.

Meeting them had been pure happenstance. As far as Haikili’s immortal business was concerned, he never intended to meet anyone from the Chosen Family. Clearly because he did not want _anything_ to do with them. He preferred being as far away from them as physically and spiritually possible. All the blessed stars considered, the Lucis Caelum clan already lucked out on receiving the gods’ favour to harness the Crystal’s power, with a matching ring to boot. (Gods know what’s _that_ for.) They were as blessed as they were going to get. Same case for the other family, the Fleurets. In his opinion, these fortunate fools should probably be on their own, without any divine intervention from him or any of his fellow Messengers.

Then again, the Six always loved being in control. Even in their deep slumber.

In lieu of the Lucis Caelum’s great importance to society, the gods—well, Bahamut specifically—tasked the even greater responsibility of protecting the soon-to-be royal family to Minerva. (Or rather, _Johanna_ _Valens_ as she would like to be called going forward, for reasons too personal for Haikili to even pry on—else he would end up having every particle of his being dismantled into the void.) Under the guise of a teacher, she was to watch over them until the Crystal chose its champion to serve as its rightful king. Johanna begrudgingly obliged; the task, much to her dismay, was non-negotiable.

“This should have been _your_ job,” Johanna had told him when he visited her in the Lucis Caelum residence. Having been at the Capital for a hunter’s errand at the time, he had thought it best to drop by and see how Johanna had been faring so far. (Besides, it’s not everyday that Haikili got to see his Messenger kin; he could not even recall the last time he ruffled Circe’s fiery feathers, or ran a marathon with Pryna and Umbra and Carbuncle. It seemed as if he already lost count of the centuries.) Surprisingly enough, he saw how she had settled nicely with the family in their immensely comfortable house: a fancy foyer and a grand staircase, marbled floors and painted ceilings and walls of windows, polished hallways embellished with chandeliers and porcelain vases and ornate works of sculpture. If one had to guess, there were more rooms and parlours and kitchens than the number of people residing the place. It was no castle, but it possessed a regality befitting the bloodline chosen by the gods.

And out of all the rooms available at Johanna’s disposal, she made her fortress within the four walls of the only library in the manor. He had found her hunched over a desk, perusing classic literature books, still wearing the same specs and the stern face he always loved to tease.

“I’m flattered that you considered me, but I don’t think I’m qualified to babysit future kings,” Haikili had evenly countered, without giving it much of a serious thought. He had been lost on exploring the small expanse of the room: rows of redwood shelves packed with thick volumes of books, charts of constellations plastered on the wall, a mobile of planets limply hanging on the ceiling. The air was perfumed with cinnamon and parchment. Outside, footsteps from scurrying servants thrummed in a faint whisper.

“Well, taking care of children—let alone teaching them—has never been quite my forte,” Johanna noted drily.

Haikili swiped a book sitting on the topmost stack in front of Johanna. Breezing through its pages, he had pondered out loud: “Is it just me, or are you trying to passive-aggressively compliment me with how good I am with kids?”

Johanna rolled her eyes, adjusting her glasses. “I see you’re still self-absorbed as ever.”

“I know,” Haikili grinned, snapping the book shut and returning it to the pile.

“What brings you here, anyway?”

“Business.” He dug out a rusty dog tag from the pocket of his navy cargo pants, and dangled the chain in front of Johanna. The name _Maxwell Tarrant_ was engraved on its metal plate. “Trampled by a daemon after saving a... group of kids. I was told the poor guy used to lived here somewhere in the Capital. Hoping to find his other relatives.” Haikili shoved the dog tag back to his pocket. He cleared his throat and went on: “So. How bad are these kids?”

“Not bad at all, actually.”

“Really? They’re not spoiled brats?”

“Far from it.”

“Huh. And here I was expecting they’d be insufferable, given how rich they are. Anyway. Then I don’t think you should worry about anything,” Haikili shrugged. “You’ll be fine. You’ll do great!”

Johanna stared at him, eyebrows skeptically raised. “Are you just saying that to spite me?”

“Of course not!” After a while, he had nervously backpedaled and said: “Okay, maybe a little. I have to admit, it’s a bit refreshing seeing _the_ Miner—“ Johanna had fired him a glare so frightening he stuttered a proper correction— “er, _the_ Johanna Valens out of her comfort zone.” He had followed it with a sincere smile. “But personally, I think you’re a perfect fit. This whole royalty business ain’t my thing—“

Before Haikili had even finished his train of thought, two boys barged in the room, their sweaty faces stained with dried paint of blue and red and yellow, their white tunics an abstract mess of pigments and crayons.

“Johanna, look! My brother painted this beautiful portrait of you… oh—”

“Give it back, Ardyn! It’s not done… _whoa.”_

The two boys had staggered to a startling halt in front of Haikili, looking up at him with the strangest curiosity, a guileless wonder. A solemn yet an awfully awkward pause lingered. Most children their age would have scampered away, scared out of their wits by just seeing the enormousness of him. Handsome devil as he would deem himself to be, most children thought otherwise. For them, he was just the devil. Human children were very hard to please, and it always took a considerable amount of time to tolerate their fleeting attention span and capture their affection.

But these boys had been different.

The taller one with the unruly, red-wine hair and sharp amber eyes meekly smiled at Johanna. “Our apologies for interrupting.” To Haikili, he said politely: “My name is Ardyn, and this is my younger brother, Somnus.”

“Hello,” the shorter and scrawnier boy—Somnus—shyly waved. He had dark hair and bright blue eyes to contrast his pale, freckled face. By the looks of it, he seemed to be a boy of around six or seven, yet his strictly polished demeanor that matched his brother’s made it difficult to assume both of the boys ages. Haikili first thought Somnus was trying to hide behind his older brother, but he was only doing so just so he could stealthily snatch his artwork from him. Ardyn laughed, and Somnus only scuttled away to hide behind Haikili.

Somnus yanked the side of his trousers to get Haikili’s attention. Beside him, the boy looked exceptionally pocket-sized. “Um. What’s your name, sir?”

Haikili froze. He nervously glanced at Johanna, who had only given him a teasing smile and a shrug. He dug his hands on the pockets of his jeans, and felt the cold metal of the dog tag against his knuckles.

To this day, Haikili still could not understand what had gotten over him, and what made him hesitate to introduce himself. Maybe it was how he had been suddenly reminded of the hunter Maxwell, whom he had failed to save when the man was killed in front of his own children. He still blamed himself for that, even if he shouldn’t.

But maybe, the large part that contributed to his hesitation had been how Ardyn and Somnus looked at him as if he was not a monster he thought he had been all his life.

So in that moment, he knelt in front of Somnus and said: “I’m sorry. My name… is Maxwell. Maxwell Tarrant. I’m Johanna’s friend.” The rich baritone of his voice echoed in the room, and he flashed the boy a warm smile. “You can call me Maxx.”

 

 

From that day forward, self-baptized with a new name, Maxwell Tarrant visited the Capital to hang out with the Lucis Caelum boys as frequently as his time would permit. After learning from Johanna how their parents were rarely home and always out on business, Maxx generously offered his help to keep the children out of trouble. Johanna was both surprised and impressed with how things turned out with the trio: Maxx warming up to the occasionally rowdy and smart-ass brothers was certainly not what she had expected.

Truth be told, Maxx genuinely enjoyed spending time with the boys. Johanna had implemented a strict schedule on the boys’ homeschooling curriculum, so they were always thrilled to get out of the house with Maxx. Every afternoon, Maxx would take them to the Central Plaza, where they explored every cobbled street, hopped from one food stall to another, feasting on variety of delicacies: from candied apples to dried mangoes to peanut sauce garula skewers. If not that, they would head down Rin’s Travel Agency. It was the only chocobo ranch in the Capital that offered a rental service, and Maxx would often take the boys riding with chocobos. The son of the owner, a brawny silver-haired boy named Gilgamesh who was about Ardyn’s age always came to assist them. He was an affable lad, and he was kind and generous enough to show Ardyn and Somnus where they kept the baby chocobos. Maxx had to eventually ask Gilgamesh as nicely as he could to lock away the baby chocobos before Ardyn or Somnus could even ask how to buy one. (“You think Father would let us adopt one instead?” Somnus had asked Ardyn at one point, tugging at the sleeve of his brother’s tunic. Maxx had to shoot Ardyn with a knowing glance that made the boy nervously answer, “Maybe when we’re older, we could have our own chocobos.”)

Despite both their unparalleled love for chocobos, the only one who got the knack of the riding part was Ardyn. Once, he got too excited that he had his leg tangled on a rope and almost fell off his saddle. Maxx was lightning quick to catch the boy before falling hard on the ground.

“Thank you for saving me, Maxx,” Ardyn had said in helpless little sniffles, trying his best to fight back tears of embarrassment.

Maxx ruffled his hair and assured him with a smile, “I got your back, bud. Take it easy.”

While Ardyn was quite a fast learner, Somnus struggled to keep his feathered companion trotting forward. Most of the time, out of frustration, Somnus steered his chocobo underneath a nearby tree and there, he would take a nap nestled against his chocobo. Ardyn would tease his brother endlessly for it, but sometimes, he, too, ended up napping with him. Maxx always had to carry them both back home whenever that happened. And almost always, they went back to the Lucis Caelum residence thick with the stench of skewer smoke and chocobo turd that never failed to raise Johanna’s ire.

As time went by, leaving the boys behind made Maxx strangely overwhelmed with sadness. Whenever Maxx was on the road for a hunting expedition, he would make sure to stop by the nearest flea market and pick up new pigments for Somnus and postcards for Ardyn. He would even get something for Gilgamesh; he was aware how the boy wanted to start learning how to fight, so Maxx procured cheap smallswords for him to practice with. His visits in the Capital may have turned less frequent, but he always came back to them bearing gifts, and he would always tell them stories about his adventures over Johanna’s well-prepared supper.

Over the years, Maxx watched how time groomed the boys into adulthood: Gilgamesh shifted from a novice swordsman to a formidable warrior; Somnus took his artistic gift from the page of his drawing pad to a massive blank canvas; and Ardyn pursued to carry the burden of his family’s blessing by serving the world as its healer. It had filled Maxx with immense pride, seeing the kind of men that his young friends chose to become.

After all, nothing came close to the bond and camaraderie he had formed with Ardyn, Somnus, and Gilgamesh.

And nothing could have prepared Maxx for the kind of heartbreak he would have to endure when he saw them all fall apart.

 

* * *

 

The Royal Museum of Lucis did not operate 24/7, but Maxx thought the best time to visit a museum of its caliber was way past midnight.

Dressed as a museum guard, Maxx marched past similarly-clad roving security along the Grand Hallway. In the shivering cold of the dimly-lit hallways, ghosts of bygone days stood watch: hundreds of Lucian sculpture and porcelain vases, armies of armoured soldiers and artifacts of ivory and silver, old paintings of familiar names he once knew. A graveyard of ancient past. Maxx had seen this all before, in an age he had worked so hard to forget. But even the sharp whiff of varnish and floorwax did little help to suffocate his thousand-year-old nostalgia.

Maxx kept walking past myriad of exhibits, until he noticed that there were no more guards in sight. It was peculiar, how the gallery was almost haunted in its emptiness. Maxx liked it that way, and kept moving forward. As he reached a familiar spot in the Grand Hallway, he immediately recognized the massive canvas where the _The First Lucian Council_ was displayed...

Maxx would have loved having the space all to himself and relish the artwork Somnus had left behind, except a tall man in a long, dark trench coat was already standing in front of it.

“You know,” Maxx casually approached the man, the tone of his voice alarmingly cheerful, “if you wanted to talk to me, you didn’t need to bother to make such a bold and dramatic entrance by retrieving _this_ painting.”

The man did not turn to face Maxx. “Oh my, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I see you still have your flair for the theatrics.”

“Theatrics? Well, I’m not the one carrying the name of a dead man.”

“And that’s worse than carrying the name of a dead lover?” Maxx fired back. This time, the man turned to face him, silently seething. Maxx offered him a cold smirk. “Oh. Touchy subject?”

The man snarled bitterly. “Glad to know you’re still quick-witted.”

“Pity to know you’re now an asshole.” Maxx’s posture straightened, his face hardened by fury. “What do you want, Ardyn? Or should I address you now as Chancellor Izunia? Still not satisfied with the fake armistice you just offered King Regis?”

Ardyn scoffed in sinister amusement. His once warm amber eyes were now cold and cruel. “I’m quite certain they still have yet to deliberate on that matter, but news travel fast with your kind, eh? What are you going to do about it, son of Ramuh, Haikili—”

“You do not get to call me _that,_  you ungrateful piece of shit—” In a heartbeat, Maxx’s hands were around Ardyn’s neck, slowly but surely wringing whatever’s left of Ardyn's wretched soul out of his body. Ardyn’s face paled and his feet no longer touched the ground. Maxx growled, “After Candela and I risked everything to get you out of Angelgard, this is how you repay us? I know I can’t kill you but I can assure you, your brand of immortality means nothing to me. I can make you feel all the different kinds of deaths to pass the time while we wait for the True King to come of age—”

“You might want to… let go of that grip now…” Ardyn choked, yet a wicked laughter bubbled out of his mouth. Maxx dropped him gracelessly on the floor like a bag of dirty laundry.

After a while, Maxx's voice softened as he spoke. “You know you don’t have to do this.”

Ardyn picked himself up on the floor and dusted himself off, as if nothing had happened. Regaining his polished comportment, he looked at Maxx. There was not a hint of emotion in his face, but the words he uttered next begged to differ.

“You know that there’s nothing you can say that will ever change my mind.”

Maxx sighed and smiled ruefully. “Well, I ought to give it a shot. See if there’s still worth saving something in you underneath all that layers of tasteless clothing.”

Ardyn laughed wryly. Walking away, he said, “You can’t save me this time around, Maxx.” 

Maxx said nothing. He let the echo of Ardyn's voice ring with the sting of melancholy as he watched him disappear into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, despite this chapter not being a direct follow-up on the last one's angst fest. Haha and can I just take this as a milestone because I am legit halfway through this madness???  
> 
> 
> Anyway, ramblings!
> 
> 1\. Writing Ardyn will always be tricky to me. He's so complex and so wonderfully written that the only free real estate I have in his character is his back story. While this was written in Maxx's POV, I wrote this chapter long before I pieced LoM together. And somewhere in between, I got side-tracked and wrote a three-parter [piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094919/chapters/35002028) to further expand the kind of Ardyn I wished to portray.  
> 2\. Maxx, for me, I will always see as a very blonde version of Jason Momoa. (Case in point: [here](http://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com/post/178434176088/jasonmomoadaily-do-you-think-more-people-could). He's not blonde, but THAT THING HE SAYS IS THE GOSPEL OF MAXX.) That is all.  
> 3\. Fair warning: There will be a wild ride of smut in Chapter 22. Prepare to take a cold shower. That chapter in a nutshell?  
> 


	22. Nyx Ulric

“To think I spent all those eight weeks scoping the border for daemons without getting injured, but last day on the field I ended up with _this—”_ Libertus winced as he uneasily lifted himself from the bed, scrambling up on his elbows, mockingly gesturing to his splinted left leg stiffly elevated in a hammock-like contraption to Nyx. “Y’know, I wouldn’t be in this situation if _you_ taught me how to warp right—“

“Seems to me like you’re recovering just fine.” Nyx scowled, dragging his chair forward and leaning his arms against the bed’s metal railing. “You’re back to being full of shit.” Libertus burst out laughing; Nyx did, too—their cackle of amusement cheered and echoed brightly around the bleak and mentholated space of the Kingsglaive infirmary. No sooner had their laughter erupted, a chorus of disgruntled shushing hissed from the other side of the curtain and reduced their tiny commotion to a muffled chortle and a brief exchange of conscious glances.

If anything, the least Nyx and Libertus owed to themselves was this small and shameless laughter, like a bold statement of raising their middle fingers to their own fates in defiant declaration: _Fuck you, we survived another battle. We can do it all over again._ But Nyx knew, with much keenness, that what they had been through was no laughing matter. Granted what had transpired over the two months they had spent in the Duscaen border—rallying the troops and purging daemons day in and day out, braving through sleepless nights to stay on guard—only to be severely overpowered by the sudden surge of Niflheim’s forces boosted by their abomination of a weapon, the Kingsglaive suffered a devastating retreat that cost the lives of many of their comrades. If he even dared as much as to close his eyes, Nyx could see the billowing smoke that tainted the sky in a scalding red. He could still smell the fire and the acrid fumes of burning flesh; he still heard the sound of the blazing bullets and the piercing cry of the recruits he rigorously trained, falling to the ground like human dominoes, their faces caked in soil and blood. Most of the seasoned soldiers made it out the trenches by the skin of their teeth. The other veterans weren’t that lucky.

Nyx happened to be the luckiest bastard of a veteran alive.

But Nyx rarely counted on luck. With every single misfortune that occurred in his life, he could say that his luck was awfully rotten that death followed him on many an occasion, they might as well be old friends. Though the first time death came knocking close to his door, it found his sister’s more appealing instead: Selena, always selfless to the point of stubbornness, took the bullet of an Imperial rifleman aimed right at Nyx when she shoved him out of the way. If the tragedy of his sister showed him anything, it was this: death was a cruel mentor and an even crueler lover—the moment he signed his name away in service of the Kingsglaive, he married the very prospect of it when he swore an oath to serve and protect King Regis, when he vowed to fight a hundred more wars to bring peace to Galahd. Nyx understood a great deal of how death was more than an occupational hazard. To cheat death was to be rewarded with the best view of watching everyone he cared about leave behind a lonely space for him to occupy with grief.

And Nyx had been through this more times than he could count. He had lost so many good friends on his watch that there was nothing more inside of him to be pruned into tears; his eyes were parched and empty, drained from all the nights he had silently wept that he learned to wield grief like an old holiday decoration, only to be quickly brought out to look at in season and immediately tucked away as soon as the occasion was all over. But as his mind kept chanting the names of the young soldiers that died on the field—Lenna, Yang, Mallory, Rydia, Trevor, Sabin, Winston, _too many of them goddamnit—_ the memory of his companions burned and swelled with Selena’s voice that he remembered how much of a fool he was.

Because it was never really over. His grief never cared how many seasons it has been. It never cared for months, years, decades. For Nyx, it built a mausoleum in the backyard of his mind, decorated with his traumas, the weight of all the dead bodies he carried like a cross he had to bear alone.

_Help mother, save her._

Nyx heard Selena’s voice, too, when he saw Libertus trapped under that boulder. He couldn’t care less with Captain Drautos’s command to retreat, or with Luche’s pleas for him to follow orders. Nyx couldn’t possibly risk losing the closest man he had to a brother.

He couldn’t stand losing another friend.

_I’m sorry, Selena—it should have been me. What were you thinking, why does everyone have to keep dying on me—_

“Hey, Nyx?” Libertus cleared his throat, waving his meaty hand in front of Nyx’s paled face. “You okay? If you need my meds, just—“

“I’m alright, you idiot.” Nyx forced a smile, sounding rather unconvincing. Not even Libertus’s pills or three cans of Ebony could fix the exhaustion that was too evident in his voice. He hadn’t even had the chance to change out of his uniform or to catch some decent rest that Nyx was functioning purely by adrenaline and willpower to stay awake. He was well aware how a brief shut eye could only invite the worst of his nightmares.

“So. How long did they say you’ll be staying around here?” Nyx began to ask, just to keep Libertus from worrying about him.

“Well—” Libertus scrubbed a hand over his similarly tired face— “Ronnie came by and said that I’ll be discharged by tomorrow.”

The mention of Briony’s name jolted Nyx back to his usual alertness. “Wait, you already talked to her? When?”

“Uh, yeah? Earlier this morning.” Libertus pulled a confused face. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Nyx said, in a voice that clearly meant it was _something._ “It’s… I haven’t seen her or talked to her since we got back.”

Libertus made an exasperated sound, then laughed. “For the love of Shiva’s ass, we only got back _yesterday._ And it’s not like you two weren’t together majority of the time we were out there—you two made a contest out of slaying monsters like a fucking power couple.” He let his head flop back against the stack of pillows. “Besides, I heard from her that she’s also helping out with the medical efforts. Captain’s orders.”

“But how did Brie look? Did she look okay at least?” Nyx asked worriedly.

“She’s fine—but just like the rest of us, she looks like a zombie.” Libertus gave a weary shrug. His confirmation did little to assuage Nyx’s worries about Briony; for all he knew about her, despite her ruthless display of courage, he feared that the recent outcome with the battle against the Empire and the rising number of casualties amongst the Glaive might take a toll on her.

After a pensive pause, Nyx looked at Libertus, only to see his best friend smiling at him, his mouth spread into a goofy grin. “Look at you, Nyx. Honestly. Never thought I’d see this day, you being all clingy and serious about a girl.”

“Shut up.”

“And I didn’t know you had it in you to be with just _one_ girl for more than six months.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, thanks.” Libertus smiled, waving a hand. “I’ll bet you’ll save that one with Ronnie later tonight.”

“Is it just me or are you asking me to break your other leg?” Nyx said ominously.

“You’re too nice for that, my good ol’ friend.” Libertus howled another gale of laughter. When it came to each other, Nyx and Libertus were well-versed with the craftiest (and admittedly, the most profane) insults that they had become so impervious to the slightest form of mockery, though it may be so boldly veiled as a threat. Nyx was already accustomed to Libertus’s friendly habit of hurling teasing jabs regarding his private affairs that eerily and disconcertingly enough, he found this particular exchange obscenely endearing. And quite comforting, given their current state. Between the two of them, Libertus was always the lively and cheerful and sensible one; behind the stocky build and the roughly-stubbled face, Libertus never outgrew his lighthearted shrewdness he carried even as a kid. Back in Galahd, in the years of their youth spent growing up amongst the company of hunters and mercenaries, their lives had always been rife with fear and violence, and somehow, Libertus became the pillar in which Nyx leaned himself on, the voice of reason in his times of rebellious recklessness. Whereas Nyx stirred trouble wherever he went, Libertus often diffuse the tension with a cheesy joke or two. Nyx probably would never have survived any of the bar fights and street brawls had Libertus not cared enough to interfere to get his ass out of trouble.

And for everything Libertus had done for him, defying a direct order and going back to get him out of the rubble was the least Nyx could do to repay a lifetime’s worth of debt.

_I’m the one here who owes him a lot._

“But I swear Nyx—” Libertus swept his hair back, now sounding a little bit more serious— “I know we’ve been friends for a long time and I respect and love the shit out of you, but if you ever hurt Ronnie or cheat on her, I fucking swear to all the gods I will beat you up.” He looked at Nyx sternly, and suddenly, he was not teasing anymore—he really was deadly serious. “I’ll do it after the Marshal, probably, ‘cause I’ll be damned if he won’t be the first one to kick your ass.”

Nyx broke into a laugh. Of course, after all they had been through, Libertus was abundantly informed on how Nyx used to operate with the ladies. For Libertus to be wary for Briony’s sake was valid, though it did wound Nyx’s ego a bit.

“Yeah, well—“ Nyx fiddled with the sleeve of his uniform, cocking his head to the side, the side of his mouth curled into a playful smirk— “I completely understand you giving up our decades worth of friendship to take Brie’s side, ‘cause I’ll be the biggest idiot on the planet if I mess things up with her.”

“Hell yeah, I will. Your Brie Cheese issa good fella and she’s been through a lot of shit. She doesn’t need to take another one from you,” Libertus said firmly. Then, he added in faithful reassurance: “But I’m sure you won’t. You’re not that much of an idiot.”

Nyx snorted. “Wow, thanks—“

“But seriously though, Ronnie aside—” Libertus coughed, his face suddenly mellowed by an expression Nyx rarely ever saw in him. “I should thank you. Really. You know you didn’t have to go back for me and straight up disobeyed the Captain’s orders—”

“Don’t say that,” said Nyx sternly. “You know I can’t just fucking abandon you, Libertus—“

“Maybe you mean you can’t abandon being everyone’s hero.”

Nyx shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Well, you do know you can’t keep saving everyone forever.” Libertus kept his eyes fixed on Nyx. His words were burdened by an understanding that need not be spoken: _For hearth and home_ came with a price tag that was worth their lives. That much was true. It was more than a caveat to their duty; it was both the sustenance and sum.

And recklessly enough, Nyx was always willing to pay it in full.

“Then I dunno, maybe I really am an idiot.” Nyx leaned back on his seat, jaws clenched, eyes startlingly fueled by a burning, stubborn resolve. “‘Cause you’re right—I can’t save everyone. But I guess I’ll have to die trying.”

 

 

Later that day, baked in the urban heat of Uptown Insomnia, Nyx faced the consequences of his insubordination: guard duty at the West Gate. Before him, a deserted wasteland of concrete blazed with monotony: skyscrapers looming over the horizon, the view of the Citadel at the forefront of the cityscape, highways vacant of activity. The buzzing echo of distant vehicles occasionally droned to fill the stagnant silence. Broad daylight scorched amidst the eye-crossing ordinariness as Nyx stood dutifully, wilting in his own boredom and enduring the scorn of his temporary coworkers.

“You can at least pretend to enjoy this menial task, _immigrant,"_ said one of the royal guardsmen named Petra—sandy brown hair and blue eyes, tall and blatantly condescending—as he leered close enough within Nyx’s personal space that he could smell the breakfast burrito in his breath and his venomous disdain, spitting the word _immigrant_ like a poisonous dart.

Kindly enough, given his track record of throwing the first punch at the sign of animosity, Nyx was unflinching; he responded with an effortful silence and kept his eyes glued on the road. Petra would not be the first one to treat Nyx in such an unwelcoming manner when, in fact, he already had been treated worse by others. _This is just a small price to pay for Libertus’s life,_ Nyx thought, forcing to divert his attention on anything but Petra and his shallow insults. He decided to train his eyes on the clouds and its shapelessness, the sheer haze created by the Wall. But his mind was transfixed with the colour of the blue sky, only to paint his fondest memories of Briony.

 _Six months and counting._ Excluding the wretched time they spent in the middle of a warzone, Nyx would go back to those first four months with her and let it replay in shameless perpetuity, like chasing the sweet, exhilarating high of a beautiful dream lingering after sleep. Nyx loved nothing more when he had Briony all to himself: breakfast at Varma’s, solving crossword puzzles in bed, late night walks around Central Avenue debating over the flavour of milkshake they ought to order at Kenny Crow’s, all the while listening to her making a passionate analysis about the latest book she had just read. Their conversations jumped from one subject to another, she being completely thoughtful and attentive, listening intently on what Nyx had to say no matter how silly or grave or anything in between it could be. He could tell her things that he could not tell anyone else, that he would often lose track of time, set adrift in each other’s company. Even in the presence of their friends, Nyx and Briony had become so inseparable that it already came to a point at one of their dinners at Yamachang’s in which Pelna had to shove himself between them just to keep them apart for a minute.

“You know what, I love you guys from the bottom of my heart—but I think I actually prefer when you guys were trying to figure out ways to kill each other than this non-stop PDA,” Crowe had cheekily remarked, with Libertus backing her up in full support. Then again, that never stopped Nyx from letting his hand wander around Briony’s waist, or teasing her with kisses on the back of her neck—a gesture Nyx soon learned that he should keep strictly within their _very_ private time, else she threatened to rip him in half.

The only one successful to ever squeeze their own presence whenever they were together was Whiskey, who made it certain that Nyx would never get anything more than a kiss on the cheek.

“No exchange of saliva when I’m around, please. Or any body fluids applicable to you humans,” the celestial cat had purred as she chirpily trotted over to his bed, strategically occupying the modest space between him and Briony, and effectively getting her attention and affection all throughout the day.

But it really could not be helped: Nyx and Briony shared a lot of things in common, though that did not discount the fact that they were two completely different people. One only had to look at each of their apartments to spot their differences: Briony was too orderly, while Nyx a little bit too messy; she had her photographs neatly arranged on her bedroom wall, while he kept his pinned sloppily on a corkboard. She kept a whole stash of unhealthy chips on her kitchen cabinet and pints of ice cream on her fridge, while he religiously stocked on organic food and bottles of rum. Briony disliked the city so much that she made an effort to build a fortress of comfort within the four walls of her home; Nyx disliked his place so much that he made an effort to build a comfort of home within the four walls of Insomnia. She was cripplingly shy and withdrawn, while he was utterly gregarious; she hid away from the world while he reveled on it.

On days when Nyx could confidently convince Briony to step out of her “cave”—a nickname Nyx coined for Apartment 401 which Briony regarded with annoyance—he showed her around parts of the sleepless metropolis she never knew existed: the brimming local music scene on West Underground, the plethora of thrift shops and secondhand bookstores on Galbadia Alley just a couple of blocks west of the Citadel, the hole-in-the-wall bistro right outside the LR Citadel Station— _Frankie’s,_ it was called—that served authentic Tenebraen food which, to Nyx’s relief, Briony enjoyed severely. It was as if he made it his life’s mission to always see Briony smile: from purposely belting out the wrong lyrics to their favourite songs on concerts, or watching silent movies at the seedy old cinema downtown to supply their own dialogue to the characters on screen, he spoiled himself with these little moments with her that Nyx could barely recognize the feeling of loneliness.

Their trips to Galahd had been more frequent, too. On their days off, Briony would sometimes ask if they could borrow the Shark and escape the city—a rare request coming from someone like her, who had the uncanny ability to bury herself in bed for days on end—that Nyx never had the heart to ever turn it down, despite his own inhibitions of going back home. He did not want to admit it, but a part of him still resented how Galahd had changed over the years. He was afraid that he could no longer love Galahd the way he did before. That his love for his home would forever hound him as a constant reminder of what he had lost. For Nyx, Galahd had been suspended in time, flash-frozen at the peak of his despair and self-flagellation, but with Briony, it seemed like the gears of the clock had moved forward. Everytime he came back with her by his side, the haunted feeling shrunk smaller and smaller. They made new memories in old places to fill in the cracks: long walks in Glenwood, picnics along the banks of Galahd River, silly afternoons by the beach, swimming and kissing and mercilessly flirting with one another. On occasions when Nyx knew his mother was out and about running errands, he wouldn’t even last another minute when things got intensely heavy; he would easily give in to the temptation and carry Briony back to his house—both of them still dripping wet and sopping in saltwater—and onto his bed. Sometimes, when his mother was indeed around, he’d take her at the far end of the beach where the rocks curved into a lagoon, seemingly hidden in plain sight: coconut trees, flamingo-pink sand, walls of moss and limestone, the water a brighter shade of blue, a tiny island on its own. He used to hide in there when he was a kid, and now, Briony would simply tease him how on earth he could ever turn his childhood hiding spot into something so completely inappropriate.

“If we were back in Tenebrae, I don’t think we could ever have sex up on the oak tree where I used to hang out,” Briony once said, laughing at their private yet horrendously public display of intimacy. It was unforgivingly shameless how they made passionate love wherever they went (unimaginable that half of the time, it was Briony’s idea—gods help Nyx’s fragile libido), like leaving parts of themselves in every place and space to make it _theirs. Ours._ A relentless reclamation, marking their territories, baptizing it with the fondness of their time. Only then did Nyx realize one thing: that he had always loved Galahd, yes, but he loved it even more because of Briony.

But what probably thrilled Nyx the most was how his mother loved Briony. Because of their frequent visits, her soft spot for Briony had blossomed into a more maternal affection. His mother had confided in him how much she wanted her to be a part of the family that she had already entrusted him with a family heirloom: her engagement ring, a sparkling rose cut emerald in white gold, shaped like a teardrop. Nyx thought she was pulling a prank on him, the same way she always did when he and Selena were children. Apparently, she was very serious.

“I want you to give this to her when you are ready for marriage. If it’s not Briony you’re going to marry, then give this back to me and buy your own ring,” she had said, and Nyx only laughed it off with the obvious blush on his face.

The luminous height of a honeymoon. Everyday, Nyx had several occasions to remind himself how fortunate he was with Briony. She never got tired of him; despite the multiple accounts of all their disagreements, including his past crimes—the incessant bickering, the annoying pranks, and every silly little game which still occurred every once in a while—she was gracious enough to tolerate his absurdities. Sure, Nyx had always known how quick-tempered, obnoxiously clever, and rough around the edges Briony was; how she had everyone fooled at first sight with her short frame, pleasant smile, and quiet demeanor, only to prove them wrong by beating her opponents bloody on combat drills and cursing like a sailor far more than anyone he knew. But there was a side of Briony that she seemed to reserve for people who _truly_ get to know her: she was awkward, sensitive, delicately affectionate. She was nurturing, and she carried an endless wellspring of love and empathy for the people close to her and around her. And after all those months of truly getting to know her, Nyx also saw a side of her that felt like looking straight into his own reflection: she was restless, troubled, afraid. There were days when Briony required a space that Nyx already learned how to carefully navigate. Sometimes, those days came without warning: an empty shrug as the only meaningful response in a conversation, a sudden radio silence after days of laughing themselves silly, a shattering sob waking him up in the middle of the night. Her silences and horrors left him feeling helpless, yet Nyx always waited. He was unquestionably patient with Briony, in the same manner that she was unquestionably patient with him whenever she comforted him on nights when he, too, would wake up thrashing and screaming from his nightmares. She held him together, kept him anchored on the last shred of his sanity, determined to fight his demons as well as her own.

There was no room for doubt that Briony loved him remarkably and so admirably in spite of it all. And this was why Nyx loved her for reasons he could no longer list. The only thing he knew with much certainty was that loving Briony meant _I love you in a way no one else will love you,_ or _I love you in a way that I will never love anyone else._ He never thought he could find a love so soul-consuming; not once did he believe the concept of true love or soulmates or any of that bullshit when all his past affairs had been merely affairs, trysts fueled by lust under the false pretense of love. Too many people had loved him, and he had loved all of them badly, but with Briony, Nyx wanted to make sure he finally did it right.

Petra was already tapping his shoulder with a baton, looking extremely baffled. “What the fuck are you smiling for?”

Nyx abruptly woke from his daydream fog. _Nothing that fucking concerns you_ was what Nyx had immediately thought of saying, but he bit his tongue to keep himself from causing trouble. Keeping his eyes obediently forward, he only responded politely, “Nothing, sir,” before Petra shot him with another scathing look and walked away.

 

 

By the time Nyx got off the train on West Underground Station, it was way past midnight. Dragging himself along the narrow alley that led to his shitty apartment complex—heavy-eyed, dead tired from the infernal boredom that was his fourteen-hour shift—the underground district somehow demanded him to remain wide awake: rows of kiosks flashed its gaudy fluorescent signs, loud music blared from night clubs, haphazard stalls wafted the usual cultivated reek of smoked sausages and grilled kebabs. A handful of stores already had their metal gates pulled down yet the crowds gathered and crackled with chatter. The whole street vibrated with restless energy. Everywhere was doused in nocturne technicolor.

And all Nyx wanted to do was to throw himself into his bed.

Halfway through the street that led to his building, something inside his jacket buzzed: his phone. With the spotty reception at his post, he had almost forgotten its existence. He fished it out, and was surprised to see quite a number of messages and a couple of voicemails:

_Brie Cheese 6:30 PM How’s your guard duty going? Are we still on for tonight at Varma’s?_

_Brie Cheese 6:42 PM Okay, nevermind Varma’s! Heard from Crowe that your shift ends at 9pm. :( Please don’t get into trouble. I love you._

_Crowe 7:11 PM we’re at yamachang’s, my good dude. join us after your shift!!!_

_Crowe 8:07 PM are the royal guards keeping you so busy that you can’t be bothered to text back??_

_Crowe 8:08 PM jk pls come over!! ronnie’s here too!!_

_Pelna 10:09 PM NYX_

_Pelna 10:10 PM wer r u??_

_Pelna 10:21 PM wer tf r u????_

_Crowe 10:35 nyx i s2g get your ass down here. something happened. not kidding this time._

_[Voicemail] Crowe 10:40 PM Dude. Your shift should be over by now. Where the hell are you? Just so you know, Ronnie got into a fight with Tredd. She left, saying she’ll stop by your place. Please go check on her, give her a call, I beg of you._

_[Voicemail] Pelna 11:04 PM Nyx! My man! Good gods why the fuck are you not replying to any of our texts! You better be alive! Call us back, ASAP!_

_[Voicemail] Libertus 11:11 PM Nyx, everyone’s acting like you not replying to calls and texts is already the sign of the apocalypse. But yeah, it’s weird. Please call back before Crowe or Pelna decides to throw a search party._

_[Voicemail] Libertus 11:17 PM Okay, now I get why they’re panicking. If you see Tredd, cut off his dick and feed it to the stray dogs outside your building._

_[Voicemail] Brie Cheese 11:27 PM Hey, I’ve been trying to reach you and seems like you’re not replying to anyone, too. Are you at home already?_

_[Voicemail] Brie Cheese 11:35 PM Shit, uh… I’m being annoying, aren’t I? I’m so sorry. Looks like you’re not home yet. I think I left your key and um, yeah. Sorry. Bye._

_[Voicemail] Brie Cheese 12:01 AM Nyx, please call me back. Or text just so I know that you’re okay. I love you._

Nyx didn’t bother texting back a reply; the last ones from Briony had him racing along the narrow market paths, past the hawkers milling about, between tourists haggling, traders shouting. He could have gone to Yamachang’s to find Tredd and beat the shit out of him, but instead, his feet propelled him towards the direction of his apartment. His insides twisted into knots. The sudden thought of Briony waiting outside his doorstep made his heart sink into a sickening worry.

But the feeling was much worse when he really saw her there, sitting by the door, still in her Kingsglaive garb, the smallness of her body curled in on herself. She lifted her head at the sound of his approaching footsteps.

“You’re… here.” Briony slowly hauled herself on her feet. Wiping her eyes, she said, “I guess I got too carried away. You weren’t replying and I wanted to see you—“

“I’m sorry I worried you.” Nyx closed the distance between them and wrapped her in a firm embrace. Her hair smelled of her usual lavender shampoo. He took a step back and immediately noticed the purpling bruise at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were swollen, too. She had been crying.

Everything inside Nyx stilled, and a cold, murderous rage spread all throughout his body. If this was all Tredd’s doing, that motherfucker better find a good place to hide.

“Did Tredd do this to you?” Nyx gently placed a hand on her cheek, his thumb carefully hovering over the bruise. “Babe, what happened?”

A deep frown crossed her face. She considered Nyx for a moment before she said, “Tredd was drunk. He kissed me, so I punched him. And then he hit me, too, hence _this."_

Nyx’s face hardened. He could feel his fury now rising from the pit of his stomach all the way to his throat. “Is he still back there at Yamachang’s? Do you know where he is?” He tried to maintain his cool, but the questions came out in a hard monotone that it already betrayed his attempt to quell his own anger. He was eager to send Tredd a trip to the hospital. Or to his grave. “I’m going to kill that piece of shit right now, just stay right here—“

Before Nyx could even march out, Briony caught his wrist. “Nyx, you don’t need to get yourself into trouble. It’s fine.”

“Well to me, it fucking _isn’t_ fine,” he growled.

“Look, I’m okay—can you just drop this?”

Nyx shook his head in disbelief. His knuckles cracked as he balled his hands into fists. “Brie, that asshole forced himself to you _and_ then he hit you. That’s two fucking crimes—“

“Yes, I know that, and I handled it,” Briony firmly insisted, gesturing a hand on her face. “As you can already see.”

“But you’ve been crying.”

“That’s because I’ve been thinking of a hundred different worst-case scenarios of what could’ve happened to _you."_ Her voice now sounded so brittle, as if one more word she would finally break. “We brought in more dead bodies this morning. Then suddenly, not hearing from you, I thought maybe tomorrow—”

Nyx couldn’t help pulling her closer to his chest. He couldn’t stand seeing her in agony. Gods, he would do anything _not_ to see her like this. “Hey, Brie. I’m here. I’m right here, I’m okay, and I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s get you home, okay? We can stay there—”

“Can we stay here instead?” she asked quietly.

Nyx stared at her, equally doubtful and bewildered. All these months of her frequently coming over to stay the night, and he was still not used to the idea of Briony wanting to hangout—or inasmuch breathe the air—inside his ridiculously cheap apartment. “Are you sure? Your place is far better than mine.”

“Don’t be silly—it’s okay.” She looked up at him, smiling. “I don’t mind.”

Nyx held his breath as his key turned noisily in the lock. He stepped into the dimness of his studio apartment, flicked the lights open, and ushered Briony inside. In the silence, the refrigerator hummed along with the muffled pedestrian noise out on the street.

Just like every other time Briony came over, he always imagined how someone like her saw his space. Sure, his place wasn’t dirty—Whiskey made sure he cleaned every nook and cranny, the floors nicely scrubbed and polished—but it wasn’t nice to look at, either. It was, admittedly, a squeezed and sloppy arrangement of a living area, a bedroom, and a kitchen: an alcove with a two-burner stove, a modest-sized sofa (which Whiskey already claimed as her territory) paired with a coffee table he bought at the nearby flea market, a small flat-screen TV mounted on the wall opposite an old leather armchair, a single metal bed on the farthest corner. By the window, a wooden desk housed his corkboard of pictures and news clippings. The shelves perched on the wall exhibited the grand disorder of his books. Some of his laundry still hung on the clothesline over his bed that his apartment smelled of his minty detergent.

He searched Briony’s face for any hint of disgust, as if waiting for her to change her mind.

She only whipped her head to meet his gaze. “What’s with that look?”

“Uh, nothing.” Nyx shrugged. “Right. Let me get something for that bruise.”

He ventured to the fridge, procured a frozen bag of peas, and went over to Briony, who had already taken her boots off and neatly placed it with his other shoes by the door. She was sitting on his bed, clutching on one of his pillows against her chest. He stood over her, carefully tilting her head sideways, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. Nyx still couldn’t look at the mark on her face without wanting to beat Tredd into a bloody pulp.

She took the cold bag from his hand and pressed it against her face. Her lips twisted in a grimace. Then, she asked, “Whiskey’s still with Johanna, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Nyx answered, sitting beside her. Johanna happened to have heard about their mission to the Duscaen border that she had kindly proposed to Nyx to take Whiskey under her care for the meantime. He could still remember the night he got that otherworldly visit from Johanna; she had materialized inside his apartment that he nearly spilled his coffee. “Whiskey said she’ll be back once I got back.” He took her free hand, threading his fingers with hers. “You really sure you don’t want to go back to your place?”

Briony nodded. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he suddenly worried that he smelled too much of sweat, of the open-air market, of skewer smoke and cigarettes.

“I don’t get it, why you like being here,” Nyx said, giving her hand a squeeze. “My place is a mess.”

“Well, yeah.” He could hear the playful smile in her voice. “But I like _your_ mess. Besides…” She hesitated for a second before she glanced up. “Here, everywhere smells like you. I know it sounds strange, but I find it… comforting. If I could, I’d want to have your scent all over me all the time.”

Nyx laughed as he gathered her in his arms and kissed her temple. Sometimes, Briony had no idea that she could say the most suggestive things without even meaning to. And it drove Nyx crazy because right now, she just turned him on.

“If the side of your mouth hadn’t been badly bruised I would’ve kissed you so hard right now,” he said, taking the frozen bag of peas from her hand and tossing it to the bedside table.

“Be gentle with me, then.” Briony leaned closer, trailing her thumb across his bottom lip. Her briefest touch reminded him how much he wanted her, how much he would _always_ want her.

He brought their lips together and he kissed her softly, carefully, with an almost scalding tenderness. Only a few months ago, he had been perfectly decided to brand Briony as awfully difficult and terribly insufferable, to the extent of wishing nothing more to do with her. Now, two words from her, and he could feel his previous animosity distill into this searing affection, his body obeying to his desire to please her, a swift _I’ll do anything for you, just say the word and I am all yours._

When he felt her slightly flinch, he broke the kiss and pulled away.

Her fingers were still tousling his braided locks of hair. He pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, did that hurt you?”

“If you don’t start kissing me harder I’m going to lose it—“

This time, Nyx held no reservations, kept no restraints. He kissed her again as if he had long been jettisoned to outer space and she was the air he needed to survive. His body throbbed for her. She tasted of spearmint and of alcohol, and as soon as he let the dangerously possessive part of him finally take over, he needed to burn and erase every trace of Tredd out of her mouth. She was his— _only_ his—and no one else’s.

With their hands all over each other—fumbling fingers unbuttoning their uniforms, unbuckling metal belts with trembling urgency, shedding one layer of clothing after another—Nyx had Briony settled further into the bed. He hovered over her, his mouth leaving kisses and wildly meandering from her neck, the valley of her breasts, the curves of her belly, down the waistband of her panties that he slowly pulled all the way off of her. The very sight of her like this—chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, her freckled skin exposed—was enough to drive him out of his mind.

She sat up, gripping his wrist. “Babe, I’m disgusting, you don’t have to—“

“But I want to,” he rasped under his breath. “I’m dying to, Brie. I’ll fucking go crazy if I can’t get a taste of your—“

“Oh my gods, don’t you fucking dare say it—“

“—pussy.” The corners of his mouth pulled into a crooked smile. He spread her legs wide, planting soft kisses on her thighs, until he dipped his fingers inside her. His cadence was slow and steady as he matched it with the clever flicker of his tongue.

Down on the floor by the bed, on his knees, Briony was his temple and this was Nyx’s act of worship. He expressed his adoration with the most loving touches, offered her with the sweetest of kisses. After all, his hands were a skillful sculptor; his mouth, a gifted poet. All those months had been enough for him to master her rhythms, and she to his own. He was more keen to give to her in generous amounts; he was thoroughly convinced that no one in the world wanted her as physically as he did. He was a cartographer to the map of her; no one had studied every territory of her skin, navigated every ripple of her flesh, explored every island of her scars the way that he did. And he knew he pleased her by the way she graced him with the arch of her back, the music of her moans, the shudder of his name that fell from her lips.

“Babe, babe, _baby,_ I—“ Her voice quivered at his sudden change of tempo. He knew exactly what she wanted and where she wanted it. She whimpered and writhed, mindlessly weaving her hands into his hair as his fingers eased in and out, circling at a blistering pace. He drew his tongue over her in hard and greedy licks until her body was coiling tighter, and he was losing himself in her taste, her scent, and the decadent sounds that she made.

“Please, _Nyx.”_ She whimpered again. He loved it when she cried out his name like this, both as a desperate plea and an exalted pleasure.

Against his burning need to hear more from her, he permitted himself to withdraw from Briony, even for an aching second. He saw her face buried in his sheets, panting heavy breaths, her stiff nipples begging to be sucked. Heaven forbid, she was so hot and he was already fucking hard.

His hands roamed down her inner thighs as he asked, his voice low and hoarse: “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Briony did not respond. Instead, she staggered up, clumsily seizing Nyx by his shoulders. She moved her knees up onto the bed, and he unsteadily rose to meet her face. In a heartbeat, she yanked him down onto her, maneuvering around so that he was now lying on the bed, her legs straddling his lap.

“What I want… is _this_.” She pulled his boxers off and wrapped her fingers around his hardened length. She stroked him with perfect pressure that a raw groan escaped his throat. It was painfully _too good._ She, too, knew him exceptionally well. She muttered, “I want you inside of me.”

Between the two of them, it was Nyx who did most of the dirty talk that hearing those words from Briony not only surprised him, but sent sparks down his spine and down his crotch. It took a lot of effort for him not to flip her over and fuck her senseless right then and there. At this point, she was deliberately pushing him out of his wits.

 _“Fuck_ —you’re killing me here, baby,” he growled as he grabbed her tight around the waist. “Since when have you been this hot and horny for me?”

“Oh, shut up.” She cheekily pressed a hand over his mouth. Her cheeks bloomed into a rosy blush. “You’re so—“

“Annoying?” His words came out garbled. He coaxed her fingers off with gentle bites which made her giggle. “Or charming?”

She pursed her lips as if to carefully give it some thought, then noncommittally said, “Annoyingly charming.”

Nyx laughed. He sat up, lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss on her fingers, the base of her palm, her wrist. He could taste his own scent on her skin and _good gods,_ he could not bear one more second _not_ being inside her. He desperately needed to put them out of their wretched, amorous misery.

All at once, he guided her hips against his and slid himself in, firm and fast. Nyx knew he had been a fool to think for one small moment that he was the one in command when Briony took the reins: he felt her clench around him as she slowly rocked her body, her eyes intensely fixed with his, as if inviting him to watch her mount him in this uninhibited, maddening rhythm.

“Fucking hell,” Nyx exhaled. Briony let out a small laugh amid the sound of her delicious moans. She rolled back and forth over him, her hands cruising the ridges of his abs, head thrown back in pleasure.

Nyx relished this sight of her. He never wished for anyone else to see her like this except for him. _Mine, mine, mine._ This was Briony without her wall of defenses, stripped of her shyness, unguarded by virtue. Romance be damned—he would burn cities to the ground just to have her like this.

And as much as he relished this sight of her, he badly wanted to change the pace.

His hands coasted her waist, cupped her ass, and he began to match her movements with the violent pounding of his hips.

“Oh gods, Nyx!” she whined, biting her lip to stifle a sob. Her body trembled in fits as she struggled to keep herself steady.

“Can’t let you have all the fun,” he grunted sharply. He lifted his body up, pulling her closer against his chest.

“For fuck’s sake—“ she laughed in between heavy moans, her fingernails now digging marks on his shoulders— “you truly are a competitive son of a bitch— _ah!”_

His thrusts grew harder and faster. Her legs locked around his waist, his hands on her breasts, her mouth on his neck. A sharp breath before the verse. There was music in their madness, to be sure: their lips spilling songs of praise in chorus, skin pressed against skin, the bed creaking a manic rhapsody. There was poetry in it, too, with the way their bodies melded into a cutting piece: a limerick somewhere in their breathless laughter, a sonnet in the rhymes of their grunts and whimpers, a litany to their limbs that twist and tangle, an ode to their spines that bend in their hypnotic desire for each other.

“Fuck, Nyx, I—“ she sobbed and stuttered as his hips rapidly surged forward, his grip around her got tighter— “Baby, I love you—“

“And I love you, too,” he whispered hoarsely. “So fucking much.”

As they teetered on the brink of release, Nyx collapsed onto the bed, pulling Briony with him. He kept on ramming himself inside her, faster and faster, until their orgasm crashed over. He could feel his heartbeat thundering against his chest and her breath against his skin coming in rough and uneven breezes. He held her close, pressing a kiss on the crown of her head.

“You okay?” he asked. He was still catching his breath.

“Better than okay,” she said, looking up at him with a smile. He smoothed a hand through her hair in slow sweeps. She scooted closer and sealed his lips with a quick kiss. “Can we do it again?”

Her offer invited a cheeky glint in his eyes. “Whatever you want, babe,” he said, not wasting another second to even reconsider as he rolled her over to her back, raring to make vicious love to her all throughout the night.

 

 

In the morning, Nyx awakened in a bizarre, love-drunk stupor. He had slept well for the first time in months. Despite that, he felt as if he had just laid his head on the pillow before the smoky light of dawn poured in through the window. He could see the motes of dust swirling in the sunlight, and he heard the honking of cars at a distance, the terrible cacophony of shouting hawkers outside, and Briony’s clatter in the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry—did I wake you?” She turned around, looking alarmed. She had been brewing a pot of coffee. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail, and she was wearing _his_ baggy white shirt.

Something about seeing Briony in _his_ clothes spurred in him a sense of possessiveness. But noticing how the fabric of _this_ particular shirt was thin enough that he could see the hard points of her nipples was an entirely different story.

Nyx rolled out of bed and walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I see you’re wearing one of my clothes,” he whispered in her ear.

“I’m sorry,” Briony said. “I hope you don’t mind—”

“Of course I don’t.” He planted a kiss on her shoulder. “Have I told you how hot you look in that shirt?”

“No.” Briony giggled, her hands rubbing his forearms. “But your erection abundantly makes it clear, I suppose?”

“You got that right.” Nyx hauled her up and she squealed. They burst into a whirlwind of laughter as he hoisted her up on the counter, pushing his body between her legs. She looped her hands around his neck and pulled him for a deep kiss. He could taste the longing in her mouth. She was starved of him as he was of her.

As soon as her lips parted ways from his, she said, “Hey, Nyx?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His lips automatically curled into a smile. “I love you, too.”

“And I’m mad for you.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. Because I’m crazy about you, too.” He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Do you wanna hear something crazier?”

Briony nodded, her mismatched eyes fixed on him.

He was supposed to say something else, something along the lines of _I can’t live without you,_ or _You’re the only person to ever make me feel this happy._ But it all fell short to what he truly wanted to say, to what he truly wanted to do. Perhaps it had been the way Briony looked at him. Or how loved she made him feel in general, with just the way she looked at him. Everytime he was close to her, he felt worthy of being loved, that there was a person in this planet that could ever love someone wretched like him. Nyx did not know how he got the courage to muster the words, but he said it anyway.

“I want to marry you.”

A deafening pause followed. Nyx could feel his own heartbeat thrumming all over his body as Briony stared at him with an expression that he could not comprehend.

She bit her lip. Quietly, she said, “Nyx, if you’re joking, I swear to all the gods I will kill you.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not.” He ran to his desk, opened the drawer, and picked up his mother’s ring. The metal weighed even heavier with all the things he wanted to tell Briony. When he returned to her, tears were welling in her eyes, one hand over her mouth.

“I know it’s only been half a year… but our lives are too short. And I can’t afford spending another day not letting you know how much I want to spend the rest of this short life with you,” Nyx said. He, too, was already on the verge of crying. “So. Briony Angela Clark. Will you marry—”

“Yes.” Briony was smiling as she cried. Nyx couldn’t contain himself as he wrapped her in a fierce embrace. Keeping her seated on the counter, his hands swept over her knees, crawling all the way up her thighs and underneath his shirt. Then his body stiffened. Nyx swallowed and eyed Briony darkly.

“Seriously, no underwear?” A smirk tugged on the corners of his mouth. “Five rounds last night still isn’t enough for you, little vixen?” He leaned closer to her ear. “Or should I say, future Mrs. Ulric?”

Briony rolled her eyes and smiled before she pulled Nyx for another kiss.

 

* * *

 

The day the news about the armistice was announced, Nyx had drifted to his early days in the Kingsglaive. Before that, he had been daydreaming about his future life with Briony and their plans together—he still couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that he would soon call her his _wife_ —until he saw one of the recruits plummeting to the ground. Suddenly, he was twenty years old again, helplessly falling, the voice of his sister echoing in his head.

It had been Libertus who had snapped him back to the present. Followed by Crowe, who had dragged them both to gripping reality that was slowly unfolding before their eyes.

The armistice between Lucis and Niflheim plagued every single news media outlet in Insomnia: from the newsstands, down to every radio and television broadcast, as if the city was busy rubbing salt to their proverbial wound. The announcement felt like being stabbed through the chest. Nyx was not surprised about how most of his peers reacted; they all had trusted King Regis, fought this bloody war, watched their comrades die in the field for the sake of their homes, only for their king to end in surrender. Personally, he couldn't find it in him to be angry with King Regis, not when he owed the man a great deal of debt. But somehow, this armistice still left him rather conflicted. 

With the news plunging everyone's morale at an all time low, most of the Glaives went home early. Meanwhile, Nyx and his usual crew decided to blow off their steam at Yamachang’s.

“So, Ronnie—” Crowe sat beside Libertus, two bottles of beer in hand, handing the other across to Briony— “any advice on what I should expect when I get to Tenebrae?”

Crowe had been assigned on a classified mission to escort Princess Lunafreya out of Tenebrae at the king’s behest. Although Briony was obviously the best candidate for the job given her knowledge on the region’s terrain, it was Crowe whom Captain Drautos entrusted with the task.

Briony reached for the bottle and took a swig before she answered, “Lots of trekking. And… trees. This time of the year’s quite cold, too.”

“Got it.” Crowe grinned. Yamachang came over with plates of garula skewers, and the scent of grilled meat permeated their table. “You know, I still don’t get it why the Captain didn’t even consider you to take on this job. You’ve proven your worth in the battlefield. Isn’t he aware you’re from Tenebrae? And that you personally know the princess?”

“Well, Crowe, the Captain knows _everything,”_ Pelna countered, raking a hand through his unruly hair. He snatched a skewer stick and dipped it into the sauce. Half-chewing, he said, “He has a mind of a monster, I’m tellin’ you. Once, Luche asked him about the list of towns in Succarpe and named all of it without reading a map. So I highly doubt that he doesn’t know where each of us came from. I won't be surprised if he knew our social security number, so who knows.”

Crowe snorted. “Then if he does know, it really doesn’t make sense that Ronnie wasn’t—”

“It’s fine, Crowe.” Briony smiled amiably. “I’m certain he has his reasons. Besides, I don’t think I’m ready to take on a solo mission yet.”

Nyx chimed in. “Not true. Your fighting prowess has grown over the past month. You're more than ready.”

"Wow, look who's being the supportive boyfriend of the year," Crowe teased, taking another swig from her beer. Nyx shot her a scowl.

“Well, Nyx's right,” Libertus agreed. “And for a combat medic, Ronnie—you slayed a good number of daemons enough to oust your arrogant hero boyfriend—”

“Okay guys, stop it with all the compliments before I short-circuit,” Briony said before she took another gulp of beer. They all laughed. She looked at Crowe and said, “Say hi to Luna for me, by the way.”

“I will.” Crowe shot her a firm look and a salute.

Pelna added, “Tell her also that a handsome young man from the Glaive is eligible for marriage.”

“Hah, goodness—in your wildest dreams,” Libertus jeered.

With Pelna and Libertus suddenly steering the subject to weddings, Nyx and Briony exchanged knowing glances. They had decided to keep mum about it; they had not yet shared to anyone their big news. (Except for Cor—Nyx had talked to him to ask for his blessing, which he graciously received without losing a limb.) And though they thought their glances had been very subtle, nothing really escaped Crowe’s attention when she was just sitting right in front of them.

“What’s with that look, you two?” Crowe spread her elbows on the table, extremely intrigued. Pelna and Libertus had halted their discussion about wedding gowns and turned to face Nyx and Briony.

“Well, speaking of weddings...” Nyx started to explain, and Briony brought out the ring which she wore and kept in a necklace. Crowe was beyond ecstatic; she immediately promised to be the best bridesmaid to ever cross the mortal realm. Pelna and Libertus were giddy with excitement, which melted into an argument as to who should be Nyx’s best man.

But whatever joy Nyx felt in that moment was immediately replaced by an unnamed foreboding, like his happiness was standing at the precipice of a fragile hope. His future with Briony felt like a pipe dream. It was as if the news of the armistice had dampened his desire, like the universe’s way of chastising him for getting too comfortable with his personal happiness. He had been used to anticipating the worst, taking it in small doses, hoping it would make it less devastating when it finally happens. But now, the worst was upon them, and he was moving through borrowed time. He knew from the start that their minutes were numbered, that he should have been vigilant in counting them. He knew, too, where this was all headed, and that he should never have stopped reading the signs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG OVERDUE! As usual, a couple of ramblings!
> 
> 1\. This was originally supposed to be a one-shot for a Nyx backstory I had in mind, but decided to include this here instead.  
> 2\. I have to confess: one of the many reasons why this took so long was because I was hesitant to post the smutty part. HAHA. This was one of the trickiest chapters I've written in this series, and the smut part was the tedious part, and based from what I've experienced in posting smut, getting feedback is hella hard. So it gets kinda discouraging. ANYWAY  
> 3\. Fair warning again: I only have one more Nyx POV left and just thinking about it makes me want to scream at myself lmao
> 
> I can't believe it's been a year since I started posting this! Thank you so much for sticking around, if you're still here reading this long-ass series.


	23. Briony Clark

Briony couldn’t get herself to sleep. Again. She sat restlessly on her couch, the clicks and stutters of clipped dialogues from the TV drifting all over Apartment 401. She was merely staring at the screen more than she was watching; she flipped through the channels, skipping sitcom reruns, cartoons, sports coverage, and the endless stream of news broadcasts about the peace treaty. _Anything but the peace treaty,_ she thought wearily; the headlines only made her angry, and she was too tired to be angry at this time of the evening.

Nothing quite caught her interest until she saw a familiar face on a local news update. _A royal wedding is upon us! Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum to wed Princess Lunafreya Nox Fleuret of Tenebrae!_

Briony stopped at the channel, astonished at the sight of Luna gracing the news. Every so often, she would come across photos of Luna on newspapers and magazines, but hardly on television. It usually showed Luna in some rural area outside of Tenebrae, surrounded by throngs of people who had come to see her perform her miracles. In those photos, Luna felt like someone out of her reach, both royalty and Oracle, a goddess personified, as if they both had not spent their childhood together. But the one Briony was seeing now was a different portrait of Luna, a much more recent snapshot that somehow reminded her of her old friend: blonde hair tied in an updo, her face with a solemn smile, a certain kind of lightness in her piercing blue eyes. A princess who had matured so gracefully under the spotlight. Now a young woman engaged to be married.

Briony fiddled and twisted the ring on her finger.

It oddly amazed Briony how Luna’s circumstances seemed to uncannily run in parallel with hers. Here they both were, orphaned Tenebraen women navigating adulthood, living in a world dominated by men, about to enter a new chapter in life without their mothers. For Briony, in the short time that she had been engaged with Nyx, she could never fully relish the joy without the thought of her mother creeping up on her like a specter in broad daylight. She wanted to share this moment with her; she wanted to do whatever things daughters do with their mothers when they are about to get married. She was about to marry the love of her life, and she wanted nothing more for her mother to be _here._ She missed her so much she could feel the emptiness swallowing her whole.

Briony wondered if Luna also felt that gaping hole that seemed to consume her. If Luna, too, also yearned and ached to fill that motherless void.

Then again, Briony had to remind herself one stark difference: Luna’s mother was dead. Hers vanished without a trace.

Sadness and anger and resentment warred inside Briony. She had been told that her mother was still alive, but the pain of not knowing where she was haunted her with listless questions. How can anyone possibly find her Messenger of a mother who seemed to make it clear that she did not want to be found? Would it have been better if she knew her mother had loved her less? Or if her mother had never loved her at all? Would it have been better if her mother had just—

 _Not tonight, not tonight, not tonight._ She switched the TV off. Her chest tightened. A froth of anxiety surged at the pit of her stomach. She snatched her phone from the coffee table and thumbed Nyx a text:

_11:32 PM I can’t sleep._

In less than a minute, Nyx replied:

_Best glaive ever 11:33 PM do u need me to come over?_

_Best glaive ever 11:33 PM or do u want a. food pic b. whiskey pic c. selfie ;)_

Briony sighed a small laughter. Somehow, this ridiculousness of Nyx soothed her and brought her immediate comfort, even for this moment. She considered his list of offers for a while, then responded:

_11:36 PM No need for you to come over. I think I’ll be fine, just needed to chat. Also, you have an early day tomorrow._

_11:36 PM And I don’t trust that selfie option in one bit._

_11:37 PM But I have to challenge you to do all three._

Five minutes later, she received a selfie of Nyx lounging on his armchair, balancing a plate of mac and cheese on his lap, Whiskey cuddled in his arms, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs which showcased his impressive bulge. It was quickly followed by a text that said:

_Best glaive ever 11:42 PM i would’ve loved sending u a different kind of selfie cos whiskey is here but there u go :) :) :)_

Good gods, it was pretty damn obvious he was tempting her. And it was fucking working. She was so weak for him, she wanted to punch herself in the face.

Just as she was to type her response, she was startled by the loud knock at her door. She felt a sudden rush of relief; a part of her expected it to be Nyx. He often did that, surprising her by showing up on her doorstep in the middle of their phone conversations or exchange of texts.

But the one standing outside her door was not Nyx. It was Gladio.

“Can we talk?” His breath was ragged, and she immediately noticed his hands were shaking. It was as if he ran a long distance just to reach her apartment.

Briony stared at him as she held the door: first a crack, then all the way. She had not seen Gladio ever since she returned from Duscae, and the last conversation they had before she left had spiraled into an argument that quickly turned into a confession. It felt like it happened a long time ago. Seeing him again twisted a knife in her stomach that she somehow forgotten that was still even there. He was her best friend, and now, she didn’t know what they were supposed to be.

She awkwardly led him inside. “Um, do sit down,” she said, gesturing at the couch. “Do you want some tea, or coffee—”

Gladio pulled her close against his chest and enveloped her in a tight hug. All at once, his scent and warmth washed over her, and she could feel herself slowly sinking into his embrace. It was as if her body was starting to remember all the things she had forgotten, how the past months had been a torment knowing that they had separated in such bad terms, and how much she still wanted to be his friend no matter what. She missed him—all this time, she had missed him—terribly and achingly so.

“I’m really, _really_ sorry, Ronnie.” His voice cracked. “I told myself that if you died out there, I wouldn’t fucking forgive myself for—”

“Gladio.” She looked up at him, and it pained her to see him so splintered by remorse. She had never seen Gladio like this before. She tugged both his hands and let his palms cup her face. “See? Not dead.”

“But what happened here?” His thumb gently brushed the black-and-yellow mark near the corner of her mouth.

“Got into a fight,” she said simply. She hoped Gladio wouldn’t ask more details; if she ever told him the entire story of what had happened with Tredd, she was certain that his reaction would be much worse than Nyx’s. (And she was certain Gladio could kill Tredd with his bare hands, so there was that, too.)

Naturally, it surprised her when Gladio only shook his head with a smile and said, “Tough as nails as always.”

A strange and stilted silence followed. Gladio dug his hands in the pocket of his jeans; Briony fiddled with the sleeves of her oversized sweater. They exchanged brief glances, both of them unable to hold each other’s gaze. Then, in unison, they both said, “I have to tell you something.” They laughed.

“No, you go first,” Briony insisted. She took a seat at the armrest of her couch.

“Okay.” Gladio ran a hand through his hair. Briony watched as he paced back and forth, as if he was about to deliver a formal address that he had not rehearsed. He easily consumed the space of Apartment 401 with his restless strides. He arrived at a screeching halt in front of her. “Uh, two things. Bear with me.”

“Okay.”

“Right. First, about what I said the last time…” He heaved a shuddery sigh, then said: “I actually came here to apologize for that shit. For pushing you away that day. It was dumb—” he seemed embarrassed, reaching for the back of his neck— “but... what I said about my feelings for you, I meant that. I totally understand that the feeling isn’t mutual. But I just want you to know that I’m not holding you accountable for what I feel, and you never need to apologize. I fell for you, and you didn’t, and it’s fine. I don’t want it to come between our friendship, ‘cause that’s what matters to me the most.”

Briony was at a loss on what to say. She had thought that their past argument had already caused a rift between them, a gap that would require a certain time to be fixed, that hearing all of this from Gladio overwhelmed her with an unfounded sense of guilt. Here he was, picking up the pieces and building a bridge out of his regret, tiptoeing through the cracks all in the name of their friendship. She could not shape a fitting response that the first thing that stumbled out of her mouth was: “Gladio, I’m really—”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re thinking about saying sorry again, are you?”

“Sorry. I mean, yes.” Briony laughed nervously. “Force of habit, I suppose.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “But… I have to apologize, too. For being such a bad friend, for those times that you felt like I smothered you—“

“Ronnie.” Gladio stepped closer and firmly held her by the shoulders. “Not once were you a bad friend to me. Ever. I was the one who said those stupid things. I was an asshole to you.”

Briony pursed her lip. “On second thought, yeah, most of the time you really were.”

“Glad we’re now in agreement to that.” Gladio laughed. He went off to flump on the couch.

Briony turned to him, flopping from the armrest down to the cushions. “What’s the other thing, then?”

Gladio straightened in his seat, looking away from Briony. Something about the expression on his face made her equally curious and nervous. After an uneasy silence, he said, “We’re accompanying Noctis to Altissia. For his wedding.”

“Oh. Right.” Briony swallowed. Her voice sounded hollow. “When are you leaving?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

A frown creased her face. “That’s… so soon.”

“I know.” Gladio sat back. “Man, I can’t believe it. Noctis getting married.”

“Tell me about it,” Briony said quietly. The ring on her finger weighed heavier by the second.

“But hey, how about you?” Gladio suddenly shifted, turning sideways to face her. An eager expression was plastered all over his face. “You said you have something to tell me, too.”

Briony looked at Gladio and tried to hold his gaze. She gripped her fingers together, as if it would help squeeze the words out of her. How come she found this so difficult? Instead of saying an excited _Nyx and I are engaged,_ the next words that flew out of her mouth was something strained, accompanied by a forced smile.

“Nyx proposed.”

Gladio considered her with an expression that could be either interpreted as surprise and utter confusion. She saw him giving a furtive glance at her hand. “And I take it you said yes?”

Briony nodded.

He cast her a concerned look. “Then why the long face? Why don’t you seem happy about it—“

“I _am_ happy. It’s just—“

“Lemme guess—“ he rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw— “and I have two options here: is it because you’re anxious on how I would take this? Or the fact that this is all too good to be true for you?”

Briony opened her mouth, then closed it. Gladio spoke of his assumptions with disarming frankness that it slightly irritated her; she knew there was no point in lying to him or drawing up an excuse. “A little bit of both,” she admitted, after a restless pause. “And one other thing.”

“It’s… your mom.”

The way Gladio had said it with careful certainty overwhelmed her with the sadness she had been keeping at bay all night. She sighed, pulling her legs close to her chest. “Fuck, am I that too easy to read?”

“Hell no,” Gladio said, smiling. There was, in his expression, a warm veil of amusement that was neither patronizing nor facetious. “I just happen to know you well enough to understand what’s going on with that beautiful mind of yours.”

Briony said nothing. Somehow, his remark brought her a simple solace that could salve a wounded soul. She suddenly wondered how many people in his life he allowed to see this side of him: warm and gentle and tenderhearted, a direct contrast to his imposing physical appearance or his occasional boorishness. She had always known of his kindness, but this only proved that what he had in him was a firm reed of goodness.

After a while, Gladio spoke. “Remember when we were kids, that time with Cor at Farmacy’s?”

“Was that when he rewarded us with an ice cream sundae after training?”

“Yeah. And also because it was your birthday, dummy.”

Briony laughed. “Oh. Right.”

“Anyway—” he cleared his throat, propping an elbow to the side of the couch— “so, he bought us this massive ice cream sundaes, and I could still remember how you didn’t even want to touch yours ‘cause—and I quote— _’I don’t deserve this ‘cause I didn’t perform well today.’_ Which I thought was stupid, ‘cause you _did_ perform well that day. So I ended up eating your share, and you went on to eat a popsicle or something.

“I guess what I'm trying to say here is: up until now, at some level, you still believe that you don’t deserve to be happy. You’re always more concerned with the people around you that you often forget to be kind to yourself. And I can’t stand seeing you torturing yourself like this. Yeah, I’ll be honest—knowing that you’re getting hitched kinda stings like hell for me, but I’ll be fine. _You’ll be fine._ And if your mom was here, I’m pretty sure she’d want you to be happy, too.”

“I…” Briony didn’t know what to say. She fought back her tears. Wiping her eyes, she said, “Whatever would I do without you?”

He gathered her with one arm and pulled her close to his chest. “I’m pretty sure you’ll do great things without me, Cupcake.”

“Perhaps.” Briony sniffed. “But I wouldn’t have survived this shit of a life if I didn’t have a friend like you. You’re a great friend, Gladio. I mean it.”

“Yeah, I know.” They looked at each other, and they both burst into laughter.

Briony leaned her head on his shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think… it would be selfish of me to ask you to be my maid of honour? Or my man of honour, if you will.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Gladio turned to her, his face was first riddled with disbelief that slowly melted into a warm smile. “I thought you’d never ask! I promise, I will make sure your bachelorette party’s gonna be so wild with lots of strippers that you’ll forget about marrying Nyx—”

“Gladio.” She smashed him with a pillow. “I’m fucking serious.”

“Now that’s more like you,” he said, followed by his usual bark of laughter. She laughed, too. For a short moment, somewhere between their laughter and their lengthy conversation, she caught in Gladio’s eyes a terrible tinge of sadness he hid so well in plain sight.

 

 

Morning swept Apartment 401 in a sun-dazed indolence. Briony could not seem to get her ass out of bed, her mind out of some sheer state of blankness, and her body out of her bathrobe and into some decently ironed clothes. She had been contemplating at her wardrobe options in her closet for almost half an hour when Nyx showed up in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Hey there, you.” Nyx casually leaned against the doorframe, looking irresistibly handsome in his gray sweatshirt and faded jeans, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

But Briony was too lost in her own void to even notice him. When she didn’t turn—much less budge on the side of her bed—Nyx walked over to her in slow and careful steps. He stood in front of her, and the whiff of his minty scent finally reeled her in his presence. He gently tilted her face to meet his.

“Hi, my Brie Cheese,” he said.

“Hi,” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Nah, sudden change of shift.” He brushed her damp hair to the side. “What’s wrong?” His hands were so warm that she could not resist leaning against his touch. “You wanna grab breakfast at Varma’s—“

“Gladio came over last night,” she said quietly.

“Oh.” She felt his hands stiffen, tensed. He pursed his lips. “So that explains why I never got a text back after I sent one of my best pictures to date.”

“Nyx.”

“I’m kidding.” He playfully pinched her chin. “So—“ he gingerly sidled up to her— “did you guys sort things out? Y’know, about that _thing_ he told you...” Briony had already shared with Nyx what had happened to her and Gladio prior to their departure to Duscae. And the way Nyx dragged the word _thing_ bothered her; it was as if Gladio’s confession of love could be parceled so simply into five letters. A _thing._ Her best friend bared his heart and soul to her, only for her to crush it. Only for him to return to her to wield its shards as a form of generosity she did not deserve. This _thing_ left a sharp, sour taste in her mouth.

She told Nyx everything Gladio had said to her the previous night. For a while, Nyx was silent. It made Briony nervous; she could not extract any hint of emotion from his face.

“I have to say—” Nyx started, taking her hand in his— “I admire his balls for coming clean about his true feelings for you and setting those aside for the sake of your friendship. But Brie, I just gotta ask you—” his expression had turned serious, his eyes searching hers— “are you sure you don’t feel the same way for him?”

Briony looked at him straight in the eyes, giving his hand a firm squeeze. “Yes, I’m sure. I love Gladio, but I’m not _in love_ with him.” She rested her chin against his shoulder. “Surely, you’re not jealous of him?”

“No.” Nyx said flatly. Briony quirked a suspicious eyebrow. Then, he said, “Okay, I admit—a little.”

She smiled, pressing a kiss on his cheek, threading through his hair with her fingers. “Babe, you know you don’t have to be.”

“To be honest, it’s really hard not to,” Nyx confessed. “Gladio’s one fine ass of a man. And you’ve known each other for years.”

“That may be, but you’re the fine ass of a man to whom I want to spend the rest of my years with.”

Nyx turned to her, and he gave her an odd, bedazzled look. He bit his lip to suppress the smile that seemed too eager to escape from his face. “Now I’m really glad for that shift change.”

Briony gave him a quizzical look. “How come?”

“‘Cause now I have time to fuck my beautiful fiancée.”

Briony squealed with laughter as he pushed her over the bed, peppering her with kisses that trailed her cheek, her jaw, her neck. Out of carnal haste, he peeled her off her bathrobe, letting it fall over her shoulders and exposing her breasts. In return, she pulled his shirt over his head and unbuckled his trousers. He fastened his mouth on her nipple, his fingers already busy making a drenched mess between her legs. His touch made her weak in the knees, and she always craved for it, this raw primal pleasure, this debauched desire for him. She wanted more, more, more. And when he was inside her, she lost control of her moans, her loud cries that screamed his name, until she had completely forgotten the sinking feeling that gutted her chest.

 

* * *

 

The day Noctis and his retinue had left for Altissia, Insomnia beamed at Briony with its vibrant bustle and dazzle: the skyline soaked in sunlight, the sky glazed a bright shade of blue. Commerce and tumultuous traffic thrummed in the streets. The air was dense with heat and clouds of protests. The morning was too sunny and sprightly that it oddly vexed Briony; she had woken up extra early to bid them farewell, and it was as if she had been forced to turn the melancholy of her friends’ departure into this high-definition luster.

“The Citadel would be quieter without you lot,” she had told them right after their audience with King Regis. The group had momentarily gathered in the Hall of History as they waited for Cor to retrieve the Regalia. Prompto paced around in his usual high spirits, Ignis looked sharp and ready, Gladio was strangely quiet, while Noctis was brooding on one corner of the couch.

“Aww, Ronnie—” Prompto looped an arm around Briony, pulling her into a one-arm hug— “are you sure you can’t join us? If you don’t fit in the car, we would gladly exchange Gladio to have you—”

“I beg your fucking pardon?” Gladio glanced at Prompto with a murderous sneer. “I dare ya to run that by me again.”

Prompto raised his hands in surrender; even Ignis and Noctis were unable to contain their laughter.

“How I wish I could, but I already have my hands full with work,” Briony said sadly. “Anyway. You boys better not get into trouble out there. And don’t make Iggy do all the cooking.”

Ignis smiled affably at her. “You’re far too kind, Briony. But for the sake of eating something edible, I suppose it really leaves me no choice but to do the dirty work.”

“Hey, I can help with the cooking, too,” Noctis offered. “I didn’t work part-time in a sushi shop for nothing.”

Gladio cackled. “Boy, you can barely fry bacon without burning it into a crisp—”

“Can it,” Noctis huffed. They all laughed. Then, to Briony he said: “By the way, congrats on the engagement.”

She felt all their eyes trained on her, and she could not help but feel awfully self-conscious. She smiled and said, “I should say the same to you, Your Highness. Do send Luna my regards.”

“Of course,” Noctis said.

As soon as they left, the rest of Briony’s morning had been dulled by an implacable sadness. Not even Varma’s excellent cup of coffee and egg sandwich seemed to lift her spirits. She went straight to the Kingsglaive infirmary with the hopes that work could serve as a proper distraction. She filled in reports, consolidated medical expenses, updated health records and clinical files. But working on the clinical files—she quickly learned—was a huge mistake: photos of her peers who had lost their lives in Duscae were there, and it was difficult not to look at their primly-taken ID picture without remembering their paled, bloodied faces that seemed to have left a mark inside her brain. She focused on filling the long list of reports instead.

Just as she was mentally bludgeoned to think of anything else, her phone vibrated on her desk. It was a call coming from Libertus.

 _“Ronnie?”_ His voice sounded terribly hoarse. _“Where are you?”_

“Here at HQ, why?”

A strange silence followed. On the other line, she could hear Libertus sniffing, and he sounded like he was crying. Something was wrong. Panic rushed and clogged her throat.

“Hey, Libertus, what’s going on—”

_“Crowe didn’t make it to Tenebrae.”_

Briony shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut. “What? What do you mean she didn’t make it? Where is she?”

 _“They came back with her body,”_ Libertus said, breaking between sobs. _”She’s gone, Ronnie. She died.”_

 

 

The next few hours were a daze. Everything around Briony had stilled into sorrow, stricken by a great pain that dismantled her from the inside out. She felt brittle. She couldn’t stop her tears that had swelled her eyes, couldn’t stop the sobs that torched her throat. Even if Nyx had wrapped her in his arms in an attempt to comfort her, she felt like she was losing air, and she wanted to die.

_Crowe’s dead._

Nyx stepped out of the morgue to give Briony some time to herself. Her fists clenched around the cold metal of the autopsy table. She stared at Crowe’s ashen face—her once fearsome brown eyes, her once radiant and smiling face—and wondered how someone so strong and kind and beautiful deserved something like _this._ Sure, it was true that death was the price of their duty as a Glaive—Briony had accepted this fact from day one; she had endured it when she watched most of her fellow recruits defend their territories at the expense of their own lives. But Crowe did not die in the frontlines, nor did she die in the battlefield. Crowe was one of the best soldiers in the Kingsglaive, and she died on a fucking standard escort. Crowe—strong and kind and beautiful Crowe—was slaughtered in cold blood, her body disposed like a piece of rotten meat and thrown in the dumps. It sickened Briony, and she could feel her mourning warp into a burning rage.

A part of Briony could not resist pinning the blame on herself. If she had been brave enough to ask Captain Drautos for his reconsideration on the job, Crowe would have never left the city and she would still be alive. If she had been brave enough to volunteer, Crowe would still be here, and they would grab dinner at Yamachang’s like they always do. If she had been brave enough to acknowledge her abilities, Crowe would still be here, and she would give her unsolicited relationship advice and she would tell her how she pops in pink sundresses and she would shop with her over the weekend to find the perfect dress for her wedding and she would hug her and tell her how much she would always be like a little sister to her.

But here she was. No amount of _ifs_ and _if onlys_ would ever bring her back to life.

When Briony came out, she spotted Nyx sitting against the wall, his head on his hands. He stood up unsteadily when he saw her, and immediately rushed to her and wrapped her in an embrace.

“Nyx, I—”

“Don’t say it. Please.” Something in his voice threatened to crack. He cupped her face, and Briony saw in his swollen blue eyes how miserable he was. How miserable they both were. He said, “I know what you’re thinking. And I’m telling you now, it’s not your fault, Brie. Crowe’s death is not on you, do you understand me?”

Briony weakly nodded. He kissed her forehead and then her lips. She buried her face against his chest, her hands gripping the back of his uniform. Soon enough, she started to cry again.

 

 

Briony did not directly report to the Kingsglaive infirmary the following day. Instead, her grief blended so well with her fury that she was steered down the corridor, past the training room, and into Captain Drautos’s office.

He briefly looked up from his desk, and then back to the sheaf of papers he had been reading. “I’m assuming this is a very urgent matter, Briony, given you simply barged in here—”

“What sort of mission did you really send Crowe on?” she snapped. Her rage simmered at the tip of her tongue. Not once in her Kingsglaive career had Briony spoken so out of turn toward a commanding officer—let alone Captain Drautos—but she had lost all the fucks to give.

This time, Captain Drautos stared at her. He spread his elbows over his desk, his full attention now fixed on her. She saw in his stubbled and scar-riddled face a dangerous expression she could not fully decipher. “Briony—“ he started with an empty smile— “I understand your grief. I assure you—and just like what I’ve told Libertus and Nyx—we will conduct a full investigation to resolve the matter of Crowe’s death.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What exactly do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me…” Briony trailed off into a sudden silence. She didn’t mean to get distracted with all of the things that were sprawled all over Captain Drautos’s desk—there was his computer, a couple of pen holders, stacks of binders—but her eyes landed on a set of books that she immediately recognized: a first edition of Pablo Neruda’s _100 Love Sonnets,_ a very familiar collection of Cosmogony tomes...

Briony froze. “Where on earth did you get those?”

“Sorry, I should have kept that in my shelf.” Captain Drautos shook his head with a quiet chuckle, as if he had been embarrassed to have Briony to see the disheveled state of his personal effects. Then, he said flatly, “I believe these were your mother’s, right? Or has she already given this all to you?”

Briony caught her breath. She was too stunned to speak, too shocked to move. When she didn’t say anything, Captain Drautos rose from his chair, went around his desk, and locked his door.

“You seem so surprised.” He hovered around her, and Briony could feel her fear slowly sinking in.

“It was you who assaulted Cor,” she finally said. “You’re working for the Empire.”

He barked a derisive laugh. “The latter part is true. The former, well, I hate to disappoint you, but that wasn’t me. You should ask Lyonel Pax.” His face gave way to a cold-blooded smile. “If it had been me, Cor would’ve been dead a long time ago.”

“You son of a bitch, I will kill you myself—“

Before she could draw the dagger on the side of her boot, the slap on her face came like lightning and arrived with a thunderous snap that she crashed on the floor. She tasted the copper tang of blood inside her mouth. Captain Drautos gripped her in the arm and dragged her to stand up. “To tell you the truth, I was under the impression that the reason you joined the Kingsglaive was to seek me out. To grant you the Empire’s protection, the same way I did for your mother. Turns out, you’re still a naive little girl, trying to play this game.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Do you really trust your memory of what had happened twelve years ago? You were only a child.” He leaned closer to her ear, and she could feel his breath fanning against her neck. “Better yet, let me ask you this: the fire that almost swallowed Fenestala Manor to the ground, do you believe it was the Empire who caused it?”

“Yes. Who else—“

“Wrong. It was Candela’s doing.”

“You’re lying.”

His grip around her arm went tighter. “In case you’ve forgotten, your mother’s a negotiator. A strategist. The Infernian’s Messenger. The fire was her way to fend us off the grounds. I suppose it was out of her anger, after I sliced her Queen to death.”

“Shut up, how fucking dare you—“

“But I digress. If you must know the truth, your mother was left with no choice. So on her own volition, she was the one who came to us.” He let her go, and he stepped in front of her just so he could watch the colour drain from Briony’s face. “Your mother came to seek the Empire’s help.”

Briony stood in a stunned and seething silence. No words came out of her mouth. All this time, what she had known of her mother had been a fabrication, a lie made from her own mind. She could feel her disbelief morph with her decade’s worth of anger, and she felt so weak and utterly helpless in front of the man she had always sworn to kill with her own hands.

“Now,” Captain Drautos said, slowly unsheathing a knife under his armor, “I guess this is a good time for me to dispose of you—“

Briony was ready to feel the touch of steel to trace her neck when, without warning, the temperatures dropped to a biting cold. Gusts of snow swept all over the room, throwing everything in a whirlwind of disarray. Everywhere was covered in frost. And in front of Briony, Captain Drautos had turned to ice.

“My dear, sweet Briony,” a familiar voice had spoken behind her.

She shielded her eyes from the snowstorm as she turned to see Gentiana with Whiskey curled in her arms.

“It has been a long time.” The Messenger smiled.

“He won’t remember any of this, I promise,” Whiskey purred. “For now, I’ll have to get you out of here.”

Briony would have appreciated seeing them both if she weren’t freezing to death. Her body shivered in the cold, and the last thing she remembered was Whiskey’s warmth that suddenly enveloped her, and a strange song that lulled her to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Okay.  
> 1\. I wanted this chapter to show Briony at the height of her own anxieties and self-flagellation. It pains me to put my baby through this shit, tbh.  
> 2\. It's incredibly difficult having to relive Crowe's death. Editing the last few parts involving that, I had to relive my own personal experience of loss and grief, and boy did I have to chug a bottle of wine.  
> 3\. I know I sound like a broken record already at this point when I say that the next couple of chapters would be an angsty read. I'm trying to get those chapters out before the year ends (and also before Christmas because I would feel like an asshole if I publish something depressing during the holidays) *fingers crossed* I don't want to start 2019 with angst lmao. Anyway. I also want to assure y'all that there is a light at the end of this tunnel.  
> 4\. The next chapter is a Messenger's POV, c/o the badass bitch I haven't seen since Thermodynamics :)


	24. The Infernian's Sorceress

In the beginning, Ifrit the Infernian commanded fire and fury, forged it into being, and called her Circe.

Being born a Messenger, Circe found it difficult to be one. And it wasn’t because of her volcanic temper, nor because of her tongue that was sharper than thorns; she could most certainly uphold herself into proper behaviour, if need be. And it wasn’t because she was more comfortable around herds of spiracorns or towers of anaks or flocks of chocobos, either. She simply saw it an arduous task to guide and protect mankind when she never quite caught the appeal of humans. She watched them from afar and was immediately repulsed by their behaviour. They were selfish, greedy, unkind; they cared for nothing but themselves, and rarely showed any sympathy for other living creatures. She spent a lot of time with the company of wild beasts to know of their savagery. Which was why she never quite understood how the Infernian could love them so passionately. The sentiment baffled her.

Still, Circe did her part dutifully. In an effort to fully grasp the human condition, she blended with society by her own means. She went as far as forgoing her natural appearance—blazing red hair, emerald green eyes, divinely-chiseled cheekbones—to take on many different forms: an old priestess at the outskirts of the city, a lowly apprentice of a blacksmith in the forest of Malmalam Thicket, a young boy begging for scraps, a lioness from a traveling carnival that later escaped in the main streets of Solheim. The latter, she would come to admit, was rather unconventional—and equally hilarious, too. People ran away from her when she hardly attacked a single soul. Eventually, a group of hunters had to intervene to stop the commotion; she thought they were employed to return her to the cage, or better yet, make a prized trophy out of her head. But they surprised her when she saw them lowering their weapons, trying to appease her, and safely ushering her out of the city. It was a bizarre moment, and a defining one at that.

It didn’t take long for Circe to realize how wrong she had been to judge mankind for the atrocities committed by a few. Through her many different disguises did she finally see that there were good people among their kind. Though they were fearful and fragile, they were capable of demonstrating generosity, compassion, and bravery in the face of danger. Small wonder Ifrit loved them with such a passion; he saw a great deal of himself in their strength of will.

So when Ifrit waged war against the mortals she came to love, the decision to abandon her Maker brought her nothing but sorrow. The Pyreburner never took it against her; he loved her and Hestia way too dearly that he let them go to fulfill their duties. “It was what I made you both for,” he had said, and she could see it in his eyes how much mankind’s drunkenness for power pained him. Circe wished she could explain to the rest of the gods that his actions were merely fueled by his dismay, and what he had done, he had done out of a heavy heart.

But Circe knew her place. She knew she could not persuade Ifrit to stop his madness, nor could she quell the rest of the gods’ wrath. She was sensible enough to know when to tame her own flaming frustration, knew when to hold her tongue. So she did what she had to do. For the first time, she appeared to Solheim in her true form, aided women and children and wounded men to a safer place. She watched Ifrit’s fire—the very same fire that she could play in her fingertips—engulf the city and reduced it into ash.

 

* * *

 

Years after the fall of Solheim, Circe lived among mortals. Having lost most of her powers in the aftermath of Ifrit’s demise in the Astral War, she was forced to lead a normal existence along with Hestia. While Hestia devoted majority of her time perfecting her combat skills in archery and sword fighting, Circe pursued a different path. She went on to spend more time in the wild. On most days, she would visit the Capital, procuring books and mingling with scholars and studying things that governed the human interest; she invested her time learning literature and philosophy, science and mathematics, music and poetry. She even learned the art of crafting her disguises from scratch.

Just as she was getting comfortable with the idle routine of her idyllic life in the forests of Malmalam Thicket, Minerva— _Johanna_ —came to ask her for a favour.

“You need _my_ help in teaching those boys?” Circe had asked, teasingly, as if Johanna had not spent half an hour explaining her predicament. “You’re the one with the talent of knowing _everything."_

“And yet I do not possess the talent of explaining them to children,” Johanna said. “History and literature and the cosmogony, I could manage. But math and sciences, these are your fields of expertise.” Her hands were on her back, her comportment strict and in full attention. Circe was watching her meander the tiny space of her bungalow, examining the scrolls and maps on her desk, eyeing the filigreed spines of books on her shelf.

“And what makes you think I can explain these things any better? If we share something in common, we both know it’s our intolerance for children,” Circe remarked cheekily; Johanna laughed. “You should probably reach out to… Maxx. Am I right? Is that the name Haikili goes by these days?”

“Maxwell Tarrant. Yes.” Johanna nodded. “You need not worry about him, he’s been spending time at the residence with the boys.”

“Oh. How delightful.”

“Circe.”

“Yes?”

“Please consider. I only want the best for these boys.”

Circe smiled, amused. “Seems like you’ve grown to love them. Never thought you’d be so sentimental toward these humans.”

Johanna said nothing, but only smiled warmly before she left. Curiosity sparked Circe. She had never seen Johanna become so fond and affectionate toward mortals, let alone children.

So the next day Circe headed to the Capital and went straight to the Lucis Caelum residence—with equal parts excitement and trepidation. The moment she stepped into Johanna’s study, she was both awed by the massive columns of shelves that surrounded the room, and the surprised look that Johanna had on her face. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“I was beginning to think you had rejected the idea,” Johanna admitted with a fond smile.

“Let’s just say _you_ piqued my curiosity,” said Circe. Her lips twisted into her charming, crooked smile. “You rarely show affection to me, and yet to these children, you suddenly have a heart.”

Johanna shook her head. “I’m starting to think this was a mistake.”

“Oh, too late for that now.” Circe rested a hand on Johanna’s shoulder. “I promise to be on my best behaviour.”

 

 

One day led to another, weeks breezed into months, and Circe’s meetings with the Lucis Caelum brothers became a habit she valued most dearly. She had to admit, the boys certainly charmed her; no wonder Johanna grew to love them. Ardyn, the eldest, was wise beyond his years; he was eloquent, refined, polite. Somnus, the youngest, may be shy and reserved, but he was endearing, witty, clever. Circe taught them as much as she could in a day, and she was impressed with how fast Ardyn understood her subjects. Somnus, however, struggled with sciences. Circe learned that the younger boy’s forte was in the arts, so she quickly devised a way to make his learning experience easier by crafting colourful graphs to best explain certain terms and concepts. She was greatly relieved with his progress, though Somnus still admitted detesting learning about numbers and formulas.

Circe loved spending dinners with them, too. It saddened her how their parents were absent most of the time, that it was her and Johanna and Maxx who seemed to act as their guardians. The boys enjoyed it when Maxx told them stories about his travels and adventures with the Hunters, or whenever she told them about the time she spent in the wild taking care of animals, from broods of chickatrices to crashes of garulets. They would pepper them with questions brimming with utmost curiosity: “What’s it like in Vesperpool?” “Is it really always raining in Duscae?” “Does the Disc of Cauthess glow at night?” She could see in them how much they were so eager to see the world outside their opulent residence. Though Maxx made it certain that he accompanied them to explore the city, Circe wanted to do something similar for the boys.

So Circe took them to trips on the countryside. Johanna had her reservations about the idea, but Circe argued that it would be a once-in-a-month arrangement, and that she would ensure the children’s safety. Sometimes Maxx came along, and sometimes Hestia did, too. The boys were always thrilled whenever Hestia was around, because she never failed to show off how she could change into a cat at will. They camped on havens, watched the sun break into a day and descend into the night in Galdin Beach, slept underneath the stars. Circe had never seen Ardyn and Somnus enjoying themselves so grandly, especially when she brought them to the animals and beasts that they had only seen in their picture books. The smiles on their faces were priceless, and Circe swore she would do anything for their happiness.

But not all days had been easy and happy. It was true that the boys were inseparable, but there were times that their contrasting personalities caused a little trouble for Circe. Of course, fighting was normal between brothers. But one day, she caught Somnus almost strangling Ardyn to death that she almost lost her mind. She had to yank Somnus off of Ardyn’s back just to get them to stop.

Somnus cried, “He ruined my painting!” He was referring to the canvas sitting on his desk that had been somehow messed up with a massive blot of red ink.

“I said I didn’t mean to! It was an accident!” Ardyn said defensively.

Just as Circe pulled them apart, they charged again at each other, hurling words like “You’re dumb!” and “You’re a moron!” that she finally lost all control.

“Now that’s enough!” Her voice pierced all throughout the study. She had never yelled at them before. Ardyn and Somnus stared at her with both shock and fear.

Circe exhaled. She gathered every ounce of patience she could. She kneeled in front of them to meet them both face to face, and gently tugged both of their hands. “Can I ask each of you a question?"

“Yes, Lady Circe,” they answered dejectedly in chorus.

She looked first at Somnus. “Is your ruined painting more important that you have to hurt your brother?”

Somnus pursed his lips. He sniffed and shook his head. “No.”

She turned to Ardyn. “Was it necessary for you to call your brother bad names after what he had done?”

Ardyn looked away. “No.”

“Right,” Circe said. “Will you both do me a favour? Apologize to each other. At this very moment.”

Ardyn and Somnus raised their protests together, pointing fingers on one another. “But he started it—”

“No buts.” Circe demanded. She tried to keep her tone as calm as possible. “It doesn’t matter who started which—it is quite obvious that you both ended up hurting each other with hurtful words and actions, and you both need to apologize to each other.”

“I’m sorry for strangling you,” Somnus started, after a thoughtful pause. “And for calling you a moron.”

“And I’m sorry if I called you dumb,” Ardyn said. “I promise, I’ll help you fix your canvas.” He then gave Somnus a hug.

Circe watched them keenly. Then, she told them, “Can you both promise me something?”

Ardyn and Somnus looked at each other and nodded earnestly.

“The world can be terribly cruel, but you have to know this as early as possible—” she placed both of their little hands in hers and held them firmly— “that there should never be anything that would come between your brotherhood. You are brothers first before anything else. Protect each other at all costs. Fight for each other, not against each other. Can you promise me that?”

The boys nodded again and both said, “We promise.”

 

* * *

 

The cold and ghastly corridors of Gralea Imperial Palace did little to extinguish the heat that still lingered in Candela’s hands. Each grotesque work of gold-and-silver sculptures perched alongside bone-white columns seemed to judge her for her crimes. She never meant to unleash hell on Fenestala Manor. She really didn’t. But when she saw Queen Sylva’s body sprawled on the ground, soaked in her own blood, something in her snapped.

She balled her hands into fists. A tiny sparkle of flame flickered in her knuckles. She contemplated on her choices—or the lack thereof. If she could, she would not hesitate to burn this whole place to the ground. But she was absolutely aware how she didn’t have enough power to do so. Desperation wrung her insides apart. She needed the Pyreburner’s power more than ever. If Ifrit was stirred from his slumber, she could restore herself to her former glory. And perhaps, Hestia would finally awaken and find her way back to the mortal realm, too...

But waking Ifrit was not the answer, nor was destroying Gralea. It would only put everyone back in Tenebrae in a much more terrible danger because of her. And her Briony, too. Her dearest Briony. She only hoped against hope that Cor was already on his way to take Briony out of Tenebrae. She would never forgive herself if something happened to her. Candela had already failed and lost a countless times, and Briony was the only one she could not afford to lose.

The Imperial soldiers accompanying Candela suddenly came to a stop. General Glauca arrived at a screeching halt in front of an elaborately decorated door. They led her inside a room which appeared to be a study of sorts: mahogany desk, massive shelves from floor to ceiling, fancy velvet couches and polished furniture. Large painted portraits hung on gilded walls. The room smelled of expensive perfume.

And by the window stood Chancellor Ardyn Izunia.

“Thank you. You may all leave us,” he announced, after a stagnant silence. General Glauca and his cohorts left the room. The chancellor approached her and said amiably, “Please have a seat, Lady Candela—“

She greeted him with a slap on the face that echoed all over the room.

He rubbed a hand against his reddened cheek. “It’s good to see you, too.” He smiled at her as if nothing had happened. “Fancy some tea to quell that anger?”

“Aren’t you kind.” Candela said sharply. “I’d actually prefer you dropping dead, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Ardyn laughed. “Come now, Lady Candela. Is that what you truly want for the man you’ve once taken under your wing—“

“If you were truly still the man I’ve once taken under my wing, you wouldn’t turn out to be one vile and loathsome creature. And yet here we are, and you’re hardly a man at all.”

“Then I would like nothing more but to offer my sincerest apologies for causing you such great disappointment,” he said with an obviously mocking smile.

“Oh, do save your breath for that.” Candela walked past him and casually took a seat on his desk. She was perusing over his study, examining every book, flicking over his sheafs of documents while he watched her with mad amusement. He found her dire situation amusing, she was sure of it, and she wanted to make sure he enjoyed this show while it lasted. “I have to admit—” Candela folded her hands over the desk— “your audacity to cross me severely is most admirable. The last time we spoke, we came to a perfectly clear agreement that Fenestala Manor will be kept safe from harm. _Any_ form of harm. A document was signed to honour that. You, too, swore it upon your word, and I expected you would honour that word. After all, that’s the least I would ask of you after I gathered the help of the Hunters and mobilized an Imperial fleet to see you freed from Angelgard. Was keeping your word so monumentally difficult that you had to order your Imperial officers to butcher civilians and even the Oracle herself?”

“That’s quite an accusation,” Ardyn said, waving a dismissive hand. “If you must know, as chancellor, I am unaffiliated with the Imperial army and have no authority over them whatsover.”

“Unaffiliated or no doesn’t matter to me,” Candela snarled. “You are the bloody chancellor and you should probably act like one.”

“Is that why you’ve come here, Lady Candela? To tell me on how I should do my job?” His tone was veiled with disdain and contempt. He was deliberately pushing her buttons, the same way he did when he was trying to be cheeky as a child—

Candela bit the inside of her cheek and forced a smile. _That person is no longer here,_ she reminded herself. “No,” she answered sternly. “I’m here to make a bargain. One I am certain you would find quite favourable.”

Ardyn quirked a curious brow. “How so?”

She contemplated on her choices again. There weren’t any easy ones, but she knew there was something she could do. There would be consequences, sure, but it was the only way for her to buy more time. She was loath to trust Ardyn, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and she was now in a very desperate situation. She was backed against the wall, and she was determined to do _anything_ to break the goddamn thing down.

After a listless silence, she finally said: “It concerns the Infernian.”

“I believe that won’t be necessary,” Ardyn said, with an air of triumph. “We already know where the Infernian is.”

“That may be,” Candela said, “but how certain and confident are you that you would win his favour?” She stood from her seat and walked over to Ardyn. “You may resurrect him with your bloody Starscourge, but you’re still nothing but a mortal to him.”

Ardyn eyed her coldly. “So what exactly do you propose?”

“I’ll speak to Ifrit on your behalf. Ask him to provide you his blessing.”

Ardyn considered her for a breathless moment. Then, he said, “So what are your terms?”

“Spare Lunafreya and Ravus,” Candela said. “And let the Lucians and the Royal Family leave Tenebrae in peace.”

Ardyn smiled at her with the same pride and condescension that she wanted to burn off his face. “Consider it done.”

 

 

Candela led Ardyn through a chamber hidden at the peak of the Rock of Ravatogh. It had been centuries since Candela had been here, but everything remained the same: massive hallways, walls of molten lava, gray cobblestone floor. Steam rose from the cracks. The air reeked of sulfur and smoke. The earth grumbled with the echo of their footsteps.

At the end of the hall, an enormous circular-domed room enshrined an empty altar made of bones. Candela approached it without any second thought, leaving Ardyn far behind.

She closed her eyes and began to speak in tongues. The foreign words that stumbled out of her mouth felt like a liberating cry that echoed the room.

A strange silence followed.

Ardyn trailed closely behind her. “Are you certain you know what you’re—”

He suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Startled, Candela turned around to face him. She saw that he had stopped moving.

 _Time_ had stopped moving.

Candela glanced at the altar and saw that embers of fire had risen from the surface. A familiar voice spoke.

“Long has it been, my dearest Circe.”

Candela smiled. “It has been a long time, my lord.” The sound of Ifrit’s voice brought her a wave of comfort.

“Are you most certain you are prepared to face the wrath of the other gods?”

“I am most certain, my lord.”

“My sweet, dearest Circe. The things you do for love.” There was a sadness in his voice that almost begged her not to do any of this. Still, he went on and said, “Then I implore you to leave this man to me. Should I ever fully succumb to the darkness, tell my love that she has every right to end my life once more.”

She nodded. She could feel the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

All at once, time rushed forward, and she felt something inside her surge. Fire erupted from the walls.

Ardyn smiled viciously. “I suppose it's time for me to meet the illustrious Infernian!” He approached the altar and placed a hand on its surface, bowed as if to pay his respects.

But just as he touched the altar, the flames were slowly tainted in black. The earth trembled as Ifrit finally showed himself, letting out a sharp, piercing howl of pain. Candela saw the Infernian’s skin paled to gray, a dark fluid oozing from his body. She watched as Ardyn turn him into something macabre, an Astral reborn out of the scourge.

Candela’s fury scorched her throat dry. This time, she couldn’t hold herself any longer.

She summoned giant pillars of fire, leaving her and Ardyn surrounded in flames. The temperatures rose into a boiling point. She willed his body with her mind and had him paralyzed in a blink of an eye. He stood stiffly, as if he had been wrapped in invisible chains.

“This is quite a trick… you have…” Ardyn struggled to speak. Candela clenched her fist in front of his chest to let him know she was in control of his heart. He hissed a sharp breath.

“It feels so good to have my powers back,” Candela said. “Before I allow you to go on and celebrate, how about I tell you a little story?”

Ardyn’s jaw clenched and said nothing. His eyes were murderous, and Candela could not care any less.

She circled around him. “Right after you were thrown into Angelgard, someone came to me, pleading for my help to set you free from your prison. I understood their sentiment; I, too, was convinced that you were wrongfully punished. So I presented my case to the council, along with this person, which I assume you knew so well. Unfortunately, it was only your brother who supported our cause. Passionately, he defended us. But he was just a boy who was made king. He never got the approval of the ruling council.

“The ruling council—as you and I both know—was governed mostly by weak men, ignorant men, all chosen by your spineless father. My kin and I were severely outnumbered. So you shouldn’t be surprised that the person I came to defend was sentenced to death. By hanging.

“And as for me, I was eventually labeled a heretic. A witch. They never believed Johanna and Maxx when they told them I was a Messenger, just like them. So I, too, was punished. Stripped naked, made to walk the entire Capital, then burned at a stake. Seeing that I could not be killed by fire, they shot their arrows. Hundreds of them.

“So you see, I went to many years of slumber after that, and still I wanted to set you free from Angelgard. Maxx had the same sentiments. But how wrong we were about you. So terribly wrong.

“But now here I am, deeply regretting the day I came to protect you and save you. So make no mistake, Ardyn Lucis Caelum.” Candela enunciated every syllable of his true name like a scathing insult. “You have been dead to me the moment you let the scourge take over your life. I will never fight your cause, nor will I ever serve the likes of you. You may have received the Pyreburner’s favour, but know this, Usurper: You will meet your end. I will see to it that the prophecy will be fulfilled by your own hand, and that you will die a lonely death.”

Candela looked at him in the eyes. Despite her anger and resentment, a part of her still wanted this man in front of her to be the same man she once died for. But he wasn’t any longer. The amber eyes staring back at her were empty and cold, not the same amber eyes from the charming and kind boy she had come to care for.

After a doleful silence, she let Ardyn go. Before he could even retaliate, Candela had disappeared into the flames.

 


	25. Gladiolus Amicitia

Gladio dreamt Insomnia was burning.

He was certain he was only dreaming; he was acutely aware that he was somewhere out in Galdin Quay, finally spending a night in a decent hotel room with Noctis, Prompto, and Ignis after a long day of hunting for Dino. But it frightened him how vivid the image of it was. He saw himself in the middle of a post-apocalyptic inferno: buildings were ablaze, skyscrapers collapsed to heaps of rubble, towers of smoke smeared the sky into a deep shade of terrifying red. The sidewalks were deserted; Central Avenue was ghostly in its emptiness. Beyond, the Citadel stood in the face of ruin.

But not far ahead, Gladio caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure standing at the end of Central Avenue. The figure did not seem to notice him. He approached it with caution, and as he got closer, Gladio saw its suit of armour glistening in the fire. Its hands were clasped around the hilt of a massive sword half-buried in the ground. At its feet, a white fabric was drenched in blood...

But it wasn’t just a fabric. It was a body. In a wedding dress.

Horror clawed its way out of his gut. It was Ronnie.

In an instant, anger and anguish swept over Gladio. He wanted to charge at this motherfucker and rip them in half, but his feet were glued to the ground. Flames cackled around him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t even breathe.

He woke up in a violent jolt, his body soaked in cold sweat.

Panic seized him. He could still feel his heart hammering against his chest.

_Just a dream. Just a fucking dream._

He took a deep breath. He scanned around the room, letting the faint glow of moonlight adjust his eyes to the dimness. Over the adjacent bed, Prompto and Noctis were sprawled messily on the sheets, snoring the night away. By the window, Ignis had dozed off on the armchair, his notebook still sitting on his lap. The digital clock on the bedside table beamed twelve-thirty a.m. The idea of getting a stiff drink became more appealing than returning to sleep.

He hauled himself out of the bed, quietly padded out of the room, and went straight to the Mother of Pearl. As soon as he bought his drink, he headed for the pier.

Gladio could have marveled at the stunning view of Angelgard over the horizon; he could have enjoyed this particularly quiet evening glittered by an ocean of stars. But he still could not get that nightmare out of his mind. He could not decide what terrified him the most: Insomnia ravaged by flames, or the image of Ronnie's bloodied face.

He swirled his glass of vodka and took a drink. Just the mere thought of losing Ronnie tore his insides to shreds. That painful prospect hung over his head like a vicious cloud for months. Using work as a distraction did little help to ease his anxieties that his father already noticed him zoning out on multiple occasions. Perhaps he deserved to endure that suffering; it was his own brashness that almost pushed her away in the first place, when he watched her walk out of his door and straight into a warzone, without any guarantee of her safe return. He deserved to feel like shit for what he had said to her. He had been deeply mired with guilt and regret that the moment he heard about the Kingsglaive’s return to the city, his first instinct was to see her.

Two months of her absence and radio silence was hard enough as it is. But then, finding out about her engagement with Nyx...

All at once, Gladio was swallowed by a tide of remorse. Was the nightmare a brutal manifestation of a bitterness he had buried within himself? He wanted to hate himself for warranting even an ounce of this sickening feeling; not once in his life did he ever wish ill will for Ronnie. All he wanted was for her to be happy, even if that happiness did not count him in. He knew that the moment he told her that he was in love with her, he was breaking his own heart, that he was singing love songs to a deaf crowd, that he was offering a feast for someone who already enjoyed the sustenance of someone else. He had fought against his tormented longings, against his miseries, against his private pain, severed the feelings that skewed his bones like a human corset and abandoned all hopes to make things right with her. If this pain was the cost of her happiness, then he would bear its weight. He would wear this like an armour. He would gladly pay that price.

But good gods, how much more did this have to hurt?

“Trouble sleeping, I assume?”

Gladio briskly turned to see Ignis behind him, a bottle of beer in hand.

“How long have you been there?” asked Gladio. He suddenly felt embarrassed for not noticing Ignis sooner.

“Not long enough to see you brooding by yourself.” Ignis smiled. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure thing.” Gladio downed the rest of his vodka. A warm breeze swept the air, and the scent of seawater thickened. “Suppose Noct and Prom’s snoring woke you up?”

Ignis exhaled a chuckle and shook his head. “Worse than that.” He took a swig, and something about Ignis’s tentative silence made Gladio uneasy. “A nightmare, as it were.”

A frightening shiver raced down his spine. Gladio eyed Ignis curiously. He wanted to ask what it was about, but strongly decided against it. Maybe it was how Ignis, despite the calm and reserved air that surrounded him, exhibited something that resembled close to fear. He didn’t understand why something like that would keep him from asking; but maybe, it was just he was afraid to find out that they both had dreamt the same thing.

 


	26. Nyx Ulric

Insomnia was burning in the night, and Nyx was counting down the hours before midnight.

From the window of what used to be a corporate office, he watched the Insomnian Metropolitan Building collapse out of the city’s blazing skyline. Everything had happened so quickly, as if the day had lost control of its brakes and completely spiraled into an unmitigated disaster: the peace treaty turned into a massacre, the rescue mission to save Princess Luna had been a fucking trap, most of the Kingsglaive had joined a goddamn rebellion. Lord Clarus was dead. King Regis was dead. Pelna, Maverick, Lewis and the rest of his friends under his unit were dead. Both Libertus and Briony were not answering any of his calls or messages. He couldn’t find the space for worry, let alone digest his grief, when he had been numbed by his seething anger. And now, he was left to run like a fugitive with the royal princess in tow.

“Is everything alright?” Princess Luna stood by his side, eyeing him with such great concern. Even in this light, there was something about the princess that oddly reminded him of Briony. Not that the two of them bore any physical resemblance; Briony’s features opposed the striking elegance of Princess Luna’s face and the gentle grace in her comportment. Their only explicit similarity would be the way they spoke—if Briony ever decided to employ more of her social graces and less of her potty mouth, it would have been much more evident. But maybe it had been that moment when the princess had brazenly jumped out of a moving airship just to get to the Citadel that he felt as if he had some sort of déjà vu. The fearlessness behind her sharp blue eyes, the firebrand courage, her plain outspokenness—there was no mistaking how he had seen all of this in Briony.

Looking at the princess now only made him want to see her as soon as he possibly can.

“Technically, no,” Nyx answered, after a strange pause. “Still awaiting further details on the rendezvous point.” He glanced at his phone; there were no new messages. After an infuriating radio silence from Captain Drautos for the entirety of this clusterfuck of a day, he had finally received orders to meet up in Section D—which, in all honesty, was a very broad location to narrow down, considering how that district thrived in hundreds of shopping streets, luxury malls, and fancy restaurants. “You might want to sit down first, Your Highness. In the meantime, we wait.”

Princess Luna leaned against the window, arms folded over her chest. Another silence followed. But this time, it was burdened with something else, something Nyx couldn’t quite figure out.

“I apologize,” Princess Luna said, out of the blue. “I’m sorry if I had spoken out of turn with regards to your sister.”

“Hey, don’t be.” Nyx said, shaking his head. He considered her for a bewildered moment. When she turned to look at him, he awkwardly smiled at her—and he could not help the small laugh that bubbled out of his mouth.

“What is it?” Princess Luna was looking at him as if he had completely lost his marbles. Maybe he already did.

Nyx ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just… you really do remind me of someone I know.”

“Really?” Princess Luna cast him a searching gaze. “I hope it’s not someone who had caused you any sort of harm.”

“No. The opposite, actually,” Nyx said. “This might sound weird, but... you remind me of my fiancée. Actually, she’s told me about you. Said you two grew up together. Her name’s Briony.”

“Briony?” she repeated. Nyx saw how her her face had brightened with awe and pleasant surprise. “Briony Angela Clark?”

Nyx nodded. The mention of Briony’s full name made him giddily smile from ear to ear.

“That’s…” Princess Luna exhaled a wistful sigh. For the first time in this horrible night, Nyx saw her smiling so genuinely. Something about it mellowed her face to a guileless grace. No pretense, no barriers. She went on, “It truly has been a long time since I saw her last. I couldn’t believe I’d first meet her fiancé before she and I were chanced upon to meet again.”

Nyx laughed. “Well, I hope it didn’t disappoint you that an old friend of yours is off to marry someone like me.”

“No, not at all.” Princess Luna shook her head, turning to him with an even brighter smile. “You see, I’ve met quite a number of people in my travels, and I have seen how love could bring out the best in people. I’ve seen many couples, and I’ve listened to the way they spoke about their significant other. It’s quite a moving thing to witness. And the way you spoke of her—just the brief mention of her name—I immediately recognized it in your eyes. I’m happy to know Briony found someone like you.”

Nyx let out an amused chuckle; if he were to look at his face in the mirror, he would probably find himself blushing like a fool. _Prince Noctis better take cake of this lady,_ he suddenly thought in passing. “I, uh… thank you, Your Highness,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound rather bashful.

The princess offered him a warm smile. “So, how is she?” she asked. “I hope she hasn’t been that much of a troublemaker, the way she was when we were children.” The slight cheekiness in her tone caught him off guard. _Now Prince Noctis really better take care of this lady and not break her heart,_ he thought more heedfully this time.

“Hate to break it to you, but she’s probably still that handful kid you knew way back then,” Nyx quipped; Princess Luna laughed. “But she’s doing good,” he continued. “Though she’s not responding to any of my messages at the moment.”

The princess gently placed a hand on his arm, as if she had sensed the sudden gravity of his worry. “I’m certain she’s alright,” she said, almost too reassuringly.

“Yeah, let’s hope you’re right,” he said. And Nyx desperately wanted her to be right, more than ever.

Just as he was about to indulge himself to ask the princess with more questions about Briony, his phone buzzed. Finally, a message from Captain Drautos:

_Captain Drautos 11:52 PM Meet me in Section D’s main rotunda._

Nyx looked at Princess Luna. All at once, he suddenly felt a bizarre feeling that this would be the last time they would ever have this conversation. Dismissing the thought away, he said, “Time for us to move, Your Highness.”

 

* * *

 

Nyx was now counting down the hours before dawn, and his thoughts returned to Briony.

He found it strange how in this moment, in the middle of this raging sea of fire and ash, he only thought of her. Out of all the things that happened all throughout the night, he could have easily dwelled on Luche and how he casually revealed what he did to Crowe; he would have killed Luche himself, but Princess Luna already beat him to it. At the very least, he could have warranted Captain Drautos’s betrayal to occupy the rest of his mind and let the anger consume him. He never quite thought that the betrayal of a mentor—the closest thing he had to a father figure—would crush him so remarkably. It was Drautos who had taught him everything he knew about combat; it was him who first trusted and believed Nyx’s abilities as a soldier. He always asked if everyone was at their tip-top shape, always joined the Glaives on drinks whenever he had the time, always tolerated their stupid antics, always encouraged them to be at their best. Was all of it an act? Was any of it even true? Maybe it was him making an absolute fool out of himself, but Nyx didn’t want to think that the things Drautos did for them were all a lie. Still, that didn’t mean it would keep him from unleashing all hell to make Drautos pay for his crimes.

But despite every single shitstorm he had weathered in the course of the evening, Nyx could not keep Briony out of his mind. Now, when he thought of the months he had spent with her, he could never sort the sequence of events. He felt as each second passed, his fondest memories of her were slipping away, and he was doing everything he could to preserve them. All his favourite moments with her replayed like a broken montage: the day he first met her down the hallway of Kingsglaive HQ, their first Lumineers concert, the road trips to Galahd, mornings spent at Varma’s, the first time they made love. The morning he proposed. The moment she said yes. The last time they saw each other, they had been making plans on her bed, her naked body on top of his, her head on his chest.

Maybe that was it. They had plans. They both had thought out where they wanted to be and what they wanted out of their lives; he wanted to have that future with her, but it would seem he was not meant to be in it. Nyx had traded all of that to the Lucii to do what he had to do for the greater good. He could not bear it in his conscience if he let this city burn, knowing he could have done something, _anything,_ to save its people.

But then, he could not bear it in his conscience that the price of his choice was to leave Briony behind. Because in exchange for the Lucii’s power to save the people of Insomnia, it was not just his life that he bargained for. He knew, too, that he would end up breaking the heart of the only woman he had ever loved in his life.

 

* * *

  

_“I’d want to live in Galahd with you,” Briony said, the warmth of her naked body resting against his. Her fingers were tracing the scars on his chest. “I’d love to see you get back on your restaurant business.”_

_Nyx was beyond happy that he was at a loss on how to react. The only thing he managed to say was: “Are you serious?”_

_“Yeah.” Briony looked up at him with this wide smile on her face. “Besides, I’d love to have our children grow up enjoying the beach, and not being completely tethered on the Internet. Or technology.”_

_Nyx was stunned with surprise. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this from Briony, and he was beside himself with teeming happiness. He wanted to have a family with her, and she wanted the same thing, too. Again, the only thing he managed to say was: “So you want to have kids.”_

_Briony briefly sat up, panicked. “I mean, if that’s on the table for you. I’m sorry, am I being too_ —”

_“No, no. I just…” Nyx propped himself up in his elbows. “The thought of you bearing my children just fucking turned me on.”_

_Briony punched him on the arm. “You’re like a caveman.”_

_“Nice jab, little vixen.” Nyx winced. “But you gotta admit, I’m a very hot caveman.”_

_“Shut up.”_

_“Anyway.” Nyx pulled her back to his chest. “Now I can’t help but think of baby names. How about Sirius, if it’s a boy?”_

_She shot him an incredulous look. “Really? A Marauder for a son? Now you’re turning me on.” She laughed. “I was actually thinking of Remus.”_

_“You know what, that’s better.” Nyx ran his hand along the curve of her back. “Then what if it’s a girl?”_

_Briony did not answer for a while. Then, she looked up at him with a smile and said, “Selena. After your sister.”_

 

* * *

  

Nyx was counting down the minutes before dawn, and his thoughts remained with Briony.

He found it strange how in this moment, in the middle of all this rubble, he only thought of her. He sat quietly, watching the sun slowly dousing the sky into a lovely shade of pink. The colour reminded him of the mornings he had spent with Briony, how he had memorized every detail of her face. He always loved her oddly paired blue-and-gray eyes, how it brightened whenever she smiled or laughed. He loved how her cheeks turn into a fiery crimson whenever he had her flustered. He loved every single part of her; he loved her so much that it hurt.

“I’m assuming you’ve done something completely idiotic, Nyx Ulric.”

A familiar, chastising voice dragged him out of his daze. He turned to see Maxx hovering over him.

“Long time no see, my friend,” Nyx said weakly.

Maxx said nothing as he sat beside him. When Nyx saw the pained expression on his face, he could feel the tears stinging his eyes.

“Man, why’d you have to do it?” Maxx asked. He clasped his shoulder, and Nyx could feel the slight tremble in his hand.

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Nyx said with a solemn smile. He could already feel himself drifting, and he tried his best not to close his eyes. He wanted for time to slow down. The last thing he saw was Maxx fighting back his tears, and the blush of daybreak that reminded him of Briony.

 


	27. Cor Leonis

Insomnia had burned in the night, and Cor’s thoughts returned to Clarus and King Regis.

And in the wake of what was left in Insomnia, his last words to Drautos viciously rang to him like a deafening static, tearing all his senses apart.

_You’re in charge. I leave everything under your care._

Truth of the matter was, Cor did his best to swallow all the burning anger, the swelling grief, and every painful ounce of regret to keep himself together. Because the truth was, it wasn’t just their deaths that silently devastated him—it was the ruthless betrayal of a trusted friend, the conspiracy, and most especially, his own mindless absence. If only he could have been there, if only he should have been there, and the mere thought of all the _if onlys_ ruined him, and Astrals help his soul, he was taking all the blame and letting it choke him inch by excruciating inch.

But Cor didn’t let it show. Not even the slightest. He doggedly put himself back to his job, the only job he’s ever known since he was a child, just like he always did every single time: piece by jagged piece. He helped with the relief efforts, focused on the people’s evacuation, mapped out a plan to assist Prince Noctis and Princess Lunafreya. He wore this armour of renewed strength so well, that even in the face of this disaster, he still exhibited his unwavering discipline and usual fierceness. The only moment in which he had found a great relief was when Johanna had confirmed Briony’s safety. She was all he had left, and if he had lost her, too, gods know it would be more than he could possibly take.

But even in his short moment of consolation, as if by some cruel jape, Cor found himself remembering all the times he had spent with Clarus and Regis. Because not only did he lose his king and sworn shield, but both his closest comrades and brothers-in-arms. They were both the first few people who had believed in him, who saw behind his curtain of brashness and indifference. And then he was back to his fifteen year old self, Cid and Weskham pestering him to no end, all five of them laughing and drinking like idiots—

 _I'm fine._  He weakly smiled to himself, and all at once, the static returned louder than ever, his own words and all his cruel regrets slicing through his chest: _You’re in charge. I leave everything under your care. If only I was there, if only, if only._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made a home for my personal lamentations, and it rests in the last three chapters you have read. Please handle my insides with care.
> 
> On a sidenote, another round of my ramblings:
> 
> 1\. This chapter officially concludes the Kingsglaive arc. The very first version of Cor's POV, I actually shared via a reblog [here](http://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com/post/167308602763/risingoflights-agi92-amicitiaas-you-ever) because the OP + the entire thread had me vibin' with the angst when I was still ironing out the whole direction of LoM's plot. That version, I think, is much more saltier than this one.  
> 2\. Chapter 28 will resume in Briony's POV, aka the start of my very own Episode Luna.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading and for leaving your thoughts and feedback on this fic. If it weren't for any of you who keep indulging me on the comments section, this fic would've probably died at Chapter 19. You guys... are the best.


	28. Briony Clark

The first thing Briony saw was all white.

Truth be told, she could not tell if she was dreaming or if she was already dead. As far as her imagination with how the afterlife looked like based from all those fantasy books she had read, she had always thought it to be like this: a blinding white vastness, a deafening silence, and a strange door that stood far beyond the stretch of nothingness. A red blotch in the pristine void. She felt strangely calm, too. But she knew that this jarring calmness should be the last thing she should be feeling right now, not when she could still remember what had happened to Crowe, not when Captain Drautos turned out to be the fucking Imperial psychopath she wanted to kill all her life, not when she had found out what really happened to her mother all those twelve years ago…

Perhaps she’s really dead. They said only dead people could ever find peace, but Briony could not bring herself to accept it. She wanted her anger back. Every ounce of it.

And if she’s really dead, perhaps the other side of the door would lead her back to a place that sheltered all her rage, enough to fuel her back to the mortal realm and to kill Drautos herself.

Briony made her way towards the far end, where the door loomed like a bright red sign. “Hello?” she said out loud into the void, her voice dropping empty in the white space that stretched all around her. There was no echo; even the sound of her footsteps was swallowed in the silence.

As soon as she reached the door, she did not hesitate. She pushed it wide open and led herself in.

From the vast empty space where she had been, the other side of the door was an overwhelming contrast drenched in luxury. Briony saw herself wandering into a massive hallway of gilded ceilings, of crimson-carpeted floors, of walls embellished with the most intricate tapestries. Grotesquely-carved sculptures of gold and silver stood side by side with towering pillars of marble. A distasteful marriage of elegant architecture and terrible decor. The sight of it was too ghastly to even look at.

But what was even ghastlier was what she saw draped all over the halls: hanging in solidarity and in all its wretched glory high up above in beams and columns, was the emblem of Niflheim Empire emblazoned on banners of red and white.

Briony forced herself to move forward. She was in enemy territory—or some illusion of it, that much was true—but something about it felt off. And it was not how vividly real everything appeared to be, or the fact that she was drifting into the warmth that enveloped this… whatever this place was called. She wanted to be hysterically angry. She should be running down the halls chasing for the spectre of all her traumas. But she wasn’t. She felt lost without her anger. And of all the things she should feel, she only felt a strange current of sadness.

Not far ahead, between rounded statues of gold, she stumbled upon a large double door—the only door that seemed to exist in the entire hallway—left slightly ajar. Before she could even take a peek, a long piercing wail came from the room. And then another.

Briony rushed inside and saw a woman in a lavish canopy bed surrounded by three other women dressed in blue and white. The room was enormously grand to be one’s bedroom: woven fabrics furnished the wall, an elegant chandelier dangled on its ceiling, gold-lacquered pieces of furniture decorated the space to perfection. Perhaps it had been the room’s enormousness that not one of the women bothered to look at Briony; she didn’t know if they didn’t mind her intrusion, or if they just didn’t see her at all. At first, she didn't quite understand what was happening, until she heard a baby crying.

The woman had just given birth. The murmurs of the midwives were laced by an unsettling fear as one of them said:  _It's a girl._

Propelled by the force of her own curiosity, Briony inched closer to the bed. She wanted to get a good look at the new mother. Briony caught a glimpse of her face; she was beautiful, strikingly so, even if her golden brown hair was a sloppy mess and her forehead was beaded in sweat. There was something awfully familiar about her, as if her face was made to grace postal stamps and magazine covers. Maybe it’s her eyes, how bright and blue they were, and somehow arrestingly similar to Queen Sylva’s...

Briony hoped she had realized it sooner. The Imperial emblem, the grand hallway, then this impressive bedchamber. And with an immediate sinking certainty, she knew that at this moment, she was looking at Empress Sophia Aldercapt.

Briony watched as one of the midwives carefully handed the newborn child to the empress. The other two women bowed their heads and took their leave. One walked past Briony. The other walked _through_ her.

 _What in the world did just_ —

“Now, now, you don’t need to be alarmed,” said a gentle, soothing voice that sneaked behind her. Briony turned to see a tall woman clothed in haphazard layers of gray: knitted scarves draped around her neck, her peasant dress spilled past her feet and onto the parquet floor. Her gilded braids flowed wildly past her shoulders; her eyes were an unnerving colour of ocean blue, her skin a colour of rich mahogany. The way she carried herself exuded something between the calmness of the open sea and the violence of a raging storm.

Together, Briony and this strange woman looked so out of place in the opulence of this bedchamber.

The woman smiled, softening the sharp features of her face. “You are not yet dead, if that’s what you’re curious about. Simply dreaming a memory.”

“Whose memory?” Briony eyed her suspiciously. “And who are _you?”_

“I’m a friend, Briony,” she said amiably, calmly, as if trying to appease the sharp urgency of Briony’s tone. “My name is Marlowe.”

 _Marlowe?_ Briony stared at her. For a moment, she racked her brain for some important information that she strongly felt she was missing. _I’m certain I’ve heard that name before…_

“Wait—” Briony frowned, and the sudden memory of Crowe was a shock to her system she grasped for Marlowe’s wrist— “some time ago, a friend told me about you. You’re... a Messenger, aren’t you?”

“Indeed I am.” Marlowe nodded. She took Briony’s hand and pressed it between hers. “Sworn to the Tidemother. It is my pleasure to meet a good friend of Crowe’s.” Looping an arm around Briony, Marlowe led her towards the end of the bed. “And you don’t have to worry, they cannot see us.”

Briony wanted to press Marlowe for more questions, but she was too drawn to watch Empress Sophia. Briony had never met the empress consort before, let alone had the opportunity to be in the same room with her. She had only seen her in newspapers and in Imperial books loaned in Tenebrae, had heard how she could enchant men and women just by her daunting presence alone. Everyone knew Queen Sylva and Empress Sophia were sisters, but the queen hardly spoke of her; Briony’s mother, however, often did. Briony always wondered what could ever could have happened between the sisters that drifted them so far apart.

And it was strange seeing this image of Empress Sophia, neither enchanting nor daunting as the papers deemed her to be. In this light, she was so plainly human—simply a new mother—lovingly cooing and doting on her child. But her smile was slowly wilting, and a crushing despair crept in its place as she started crying.

In between the harsh sounds of her sobs, the empress turned to the remaining midwife. “Take her somewhere safe,” she pleaded, foisting the child to the arms of the other woman. “I beg of you. He wanted a son. He will kill her if he finds out.”

Briony clenched her fists at the woman’s agonizing plea. She wanted to run to her, to keep her and her daughter safe, to take them both as far away as she could.

But just before Briony could even move her feet, it came without warning: surging from the windows was a torrent of water, sweeping the room in ruthless tides. Briony searched for Marlowe and for Empress Sophia and her baby, but she was the only one left in the room. The water was rising at an alarming speed. Briony tried to swim, but she was flailing miserably, struggling to keep herself afloat. Something seemed to be pulling her deeper and deeper until her vision went black.

 

 

A splash of cold water slapped Briony awake.

Briony coughed violently, rolling to her side. She blew out the water that clogged her nose. Unsteadily, she rubbed her eyes and scanned her surroundings; she could only assume from the cramped space, the wooden panels, and the moldy smell of the hard bed that she was in some sort of caravan. From the window, she could see that the dark sky was slowly turning pink.

_How long have I been out?_

By then, it slowly dawned on Briony that she was not alone. Because lounging at the corner of the bed was Marlowe, quietly smiling at her. And on her lap sat a black and white cat, its green eyes staring right back at her. When it spoke, she knew it was none other than Whiskey.

“I’m so happy you’re back with us,” Whiskey purred. “I was worried I knocked you out cold again, and that Marlowe’s dreams will keep you sleeping forever—”

“Wait, what?” Briony jolted right up. “Where are we? And what just happened? Why are you here—”

“Still asking questions like a machine gun, per usual,” said a very familiar voice. Briony froze. It was a voice she could recognize anywhere, and she could not believe she was would ever hear it again.

As soon as Briony turned and saw the face of the person standing in front of her, it was as if she had been washed by a whirlwind of disbelief.

“Crowe?” Briony blinked. Once, twice, thrice. Another one for good measure. Her eyes must be fooling her.

But Crowe still stood there—same brown eyes, same lovely brown hair, same charming smile, same _everything_ except for the Hunter’s garb she was wearing—watching her with an amused expression on her face, one that she never knew she sorely missed. Still stupefied, she said, “Okay, I guess I’m really dead. Who would’ve guessed the afterlife had a caravan.”

“No, you silly!” Whiskey chimed in, ears perked up. “You’re very much alive and we’re in Hammerhead—“

“But it can’t be…” Briony shook her head. Pointing at Crowe, she said, “I saw _her_ body. And I was in...” She still could not quite wrap her head around what happened. All she knew was that she had been so furious about Crowe’s death that the following day, she had marched her way to Captain Drautos’s office…

Fueled by the remains of her rage and ever more so by a sudden shock of vigilance, she pulled a pair of knives hidden in her boots. “Now who are you, really? Who the fuck are you people?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, calm down, Ronnie—” Crowe stepped back, hands raised defensively— “it _is_ me!”

“Then prove it.”

“Uh, a little help here?” Crowe begged Marlowe, who was humming some strange melody as she rubbed Whiskey’s head. “You might want to help explaining what you guys did—”

Marlowe tilted her head. “But your friend here is a skeptical woman, eh? I think she will ask more questions until this morning turns to night, which will not help if you are in a hurry.”

Crowe looked at Whiskey. The cat scratched her ear and calmly began, “Okay, so my name is Whiskey, and I was once called Hestia. In case you can’t remember that bit. Then this here is Marlowe and she, too, is a Messenger like me. She can conjure dreams and illusions and manipulate feelings with the power of water, among other things. If you’re wondering where Gentiana is, she left to take care of kingly matters. If you need to know why she came to your aid, might as well ask her yourself because I have no clue, either. And in front of you is Crowe and she is your friend.” Whiskey stretched her legs and purred. “Does that satisfy you?”

“Not quite.” Briony glared at Crowe.

“Seriously? Alright, fine!” Crowe rested her hands on her hips. She shot Briony a challenging look. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. Do you want me to tell all your dirty secrets in front of these two? How, for example, I gave you a pretty pink box shaped like a hardcover book for you to keep on the side of your bed so you can properly stash your vibrator—”

“Okay, okay—fine, now I believe you!” Briony threw her hands in the air, all flushed at how casually Crowe could disclose that information. Good gods. Emotions swirled in her head—anxiety that there were two Messengers who now have an idea about her self-pleasure, confusion about being in Hammerhead, and this overwhelming relief that Crowe’s alive.

This woman right in front of her really was Crowe.

Briony leapt to her and wrapped her in one fierce hug.

“I missed you so much,” Briony cried. The scent of Crowe’s perfume was all too familiar that Briony wanted to hold on to her a little longer, to make sure this was all real. “I thought I lost you forever.”

“I missed you, too.” Crowe hugged Briony even tighter. “And I’m so sorry I had to throw a bucket of cold water on your face. But look—” Crowe pulled away, clasping her shoulders— “we don’t have much time. Insomnia has fallen under the Empire and—”

“What?” Her heart sank. “But the peace treaty… what happened—”

“I promise, Ronnie—I’ll explain _everything_ on the road. But we have to move _now._ I already called Cor, and I told him you’re fine. But now, he wants us to do something very important.”

“And I’m coming with you guys,” Whiskey added, scurrying to the counter next to Crowe, who was already rushing to pack a duffel bag with weapons, clothes, and curatives with great haste. Marlowe rose from the bed and began helping Crowe prepare for what seemed to be a long and arduous journey, handing her flashlights, food supplies, and even more curatives.

Briony stood in the middle of their restlessness, unsure of what to do or how to help. “Wait, where are we going exactly?”

“We’re to pick up the princess.” Crowe smiled at her. “We’re going to escort an old friend of yours.”

 

 

The hours that followed were numbed by anxiety and adrenaline. In their short stay in Hammerhead, Crowe had managed to loan a car from Cindy—a bright yellow secondhand Volkswagen Beetle she promised to be running in pristine condition—and also exchange in their Lucian pounds for gil. Meanwhile, Briony had her Kingsglaive uniform traded for a Hunter’s garb, a spare Cindy had found from her mother’s old things. Briony had hoped she could stay a little longer in Hammerhead; she still wanted to talk to Marlowe about a lot of things concerning her dream, and her time with Cid and Cindy had been brief; but all three of them had insisted that they hurry along to meet up with Cor and Princess Lunafreya.

“Y’all better call me, alright? I know most of the Hunters down here—if any of ‘em even dare to refuse to help both of ya, give me a holler and I’ll teach ‘em a lesson by wrecking their cars,” Cindy had said as they drove off. Of course, Briony could never doubt Cindy’s ability to do something like that. Anyone can be so easily deceived by Cindy’s pretty face—curly blonde hair, bright green eyes, and a smile that could launch a thousand cars—but only a fool would dare cross a genius mechanic such as herself.

As Crowe took it upon herself to take the steering wheel, Briony sat restlessly on the passenger seat with Whiskey curled on her lap. She scrolled on her phone, reading all unread text messages and listening to voicemails. Most of them were from Nyx.

_[Voicemail] Best glaive ever 10:05 PM Hey there, Brie. Where are you? Call me back as soon as you get this. I love you so much._

_[Voicemail] Best glaive ever 11:31 PM Hey, so. I’m assuming all lines have been cut which is why you couldn’t call back. By the way, I met Lady Lunafreya. Told me a lot of your embarrassing moments in Tenebrae. I finally have something against you, which I won’t use because I know you’re gonna kill me. And also because I love you._

_[Voicemail] Best glaive ever 1:15 AM Hi, Brie. I, uh… I’m sure you’re somewhere safe. I just want to let you know I love you. I will always love you, Briony._

Briony tried calling Nyx back, to no avail. Again and again she tried, but he wasn’t picking up.

“Hey,” Crowe said. “Nyx is gonna be fine. He’s gotten out of the worst situations before. He’ll do it again.”

“She’s right, Ronnie,” Whiskey purred, nudging her head against her belly. “You and Nyx will see each other soon.”

Briony said nothing. She twisted the ring on her finger. As they drove past a herd of dualhorns wrestling with a pack of sabertusks, she watched the arid landscapes of Leide careen by: the rocky mountains, the treeless wilderness littered with abandoned cars and rusty parking lots, the hot mineral emptiness glazed by the early morning sun. From afar, she could see a gathering of storm clouds billowing over the horizon. _Good mourning, indeed,_ she thought sourly. _Rain would be much better than all this sunshine._ But changing the weather was the least of her concerns. There were so many things running in her mind all at once that she felt a surge of nausea rising to her chest.

First was the news about Insomnia. The death of King Regis, and the supposed deaths of Noctis and Luna. The newspapers all had the same headlines; the radio announcements that echoed all over Hammerhead said the same thing, too, but there were so many varying accounts of what had truly happened circulating around the hunters hanging out at Takka’s Pit Stop. Some claimed that King Regis was not the only casualty on the sham of a peace treaty. Some had said that most of the ruling council were butchered by Imperial soldiers—the King’s Shield being no exception. Briony felt even more sick at the thought of it. Her heart plummeted at the prospect of King Regis’s and Lord Clarus’s death, that she felt her whole body weaken with a crushing ache for Gladio and Iris and Noctis. Especially for Noctis.

But with all the maelstrom of rumours they had heard back in Hammerhead, what caught both Crowe and Briony’s attention was learning how most of the Kingsglaive had defected and betrayed the king. No wonder Cindy was adamant that Briony changed her clothes post-haste. Crowe, however, seemed completely unfazed. Something about the cold and empty expression on her face told Briony that it probably had to do with what had happened during the supposed standard escort. Briony knew better than to probe deeper; she trusted that Crowe would freely discuss the subject in her own time.

Needless to say, with the turn of events with the Glaive, Briony couldn’t say she was surprised, but she was definitely not expecting it, either. When the news on the surrender of Lucian territories to the Empire was announced, she had been well aware how it intensified the bitter resentment that her comrades harboured towards the king. The least she had expected was for most of them to quit the force. Now, she felt like a complete fool that she failed to consider that they would go so far as to raise a rebellion.

Maybe Captain Drautos was right. Maybe she still was a naive little girl who understood nothing about the world around her. Because how would she know such things? All her life, she had been living under the privilege of people coming to her rescue. Always the protected, never the protector. She hated herself for it.

But she even hated herself more because here she was, still valuing Captain Drautos’s opinion of her even after finding out that he had been General Glauca all along. She wanted to extinguish that stubborn part of her who clung so desperately to the Titus Drautos she knew for almost three years. He had been nothing but generous to her; he had been strict as a teacher and even stricter as a commanding officer, but there was never a time that he treated them as merely soldiers. When his time permitted, he would take the Glaives out for dinner or maybe for a round of drinks, indulging them with a rare exhibit of his brand of tart humour. Once, having discovered that Crowe never had the chance to celebrate her birthday as she was brought up an orphan, he had gone through lengths to unearth her actual birth certificate just for the Glaives to throw her a party. How can this be the same man who murdered Queen Sylva in cold blood? His treachery would’ve been easier to accept had he exhibited the same cruelty to them, if he had been more uncaring and more unkind. Who would’ve thought that the man she held in such a high regard would turn out to be both a stranger and an old enemy?

Well, Briony could probably the say the same with her mother.

She felt like she really didn’t know her, not after finding out what she had done. She felt like she didn’t know _anyone_ at all. It was as if she had been disconnected to so many of the things she believed in that she was so lost and helpless. And if only Nyx were here, if only she knew with certainty that he was alive, she wouldn’t hear this static roaring in her ears, the violent dread that squeezed the air out of her lungs—

“Ronnie,” Crowe said. She had a firm grip on her shoulder, and Whiskey was purring loudly as her paws pressed against her chest. Briony didn’t even notice that rain had started to pour, or how they had pulled over on the side of the road.

Briony took a deep breath. “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Crowe asked. The crisp tone of worry in her voice gave Briony no space for hesitation, gave her nothing to hide.

“No, not really,” Briony admitted. She wanted to say she felt sick, but she decided against it. Instead, she gathered herself and instilled Crowe a firm reassurance with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll… I’ll get by.”

“Good,” Crowe said. “Now, c’mon—the marshal said they should be somewhere around here in this outpost.”

They climbed out of the car, and with Briony carrying Whiskey in her arms, they scuttled along the muddy stretch of road that led to a wooden shack to take cover. The said hunter encampment was empty of other hunters, which Briony thought strange. The only people in the outpost were the weapons vendor in the black van and the woman selling food ingredients in a red pick-up near the parking lot of abandoned cars. Inside, a range of communications equipment thrummed with the steady sound of the rain.

There was no sign of Cor or Luna.

Briony set Whiskey down and looked around. Bringing out her phone, she said, “Wait, let me double-check the coordinates he sent, it clearly pointed it here in Prairie Outpost—”

A soft shuffle of footsteps coming from the back of the shack had Briony and Crowe drawing their swords. In an instant, they were on their guard, waiting to pounce on an impending intruder, only to be surprised at the sight of a rain-drenched Cor.

“Sorry for the hold up,” Cor said. He narrowed his eyes at them. “Why do you both look like—”

Somewhere in the moment when Cor spoke was a long second in which Briony tiptoed between a wild relief and an unsettling disbelief, that when it ended, she abandoned all reservations and allowed herself to throw her arms around him.

“Ronnie.” Cor’s hug was strong and warm and so parental, just like how Briony remembered it, that when he pulled her even closer, the gesture only made her cry. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.” Then his hand was on her shoulder, a heavy anchoring hand that always held her steady throughout the turbulence of her adolescent years. “I suppose there’s no need for me to introduce you to my companion right here,” Cor said smilingly as he turned, and as he did, Briony wiped her eyes and strongly felt that she should have paid more attention.

Because right beside Cor was someone she should have noticed as soon as they came in. Even with the black cloak, no one could dare miss the white dog right by their side.

“It’s been a long time, Briony,” Luna said, taking off the hood of her cloak. Meanwhile, Whiskey had somehow commenced pestering Pryna that the two had scurried to a chase outside.

As if to remember more of her teasing jabs and less of the royal courtesies, Briony sank on one knee; Crowe followed suit. “Your Highness,” she said.

“Oh no, you know there’s no need for that,” Luna said, shaking her head. She held Briony by the shoulders, asking her to stand. “You know very well how—”

“—you hate people bowing down to you, I know.” Briony said with an impish grin. “Just wanted to make sure it really is you.”

Luna laughed. Then, as Crowe stood and dusted her trousers, she cheekily added, “Don’t worry, Your Highness—she even tested if I was truly alive just this morning. Trust issues.”

Briony rolled her eyes. “Well, this is my friend, Crowe.”

“Pleased to meet you, Crowe.” Luna said with a polite smile. Then, as if to forego her formal comportment, Luna pulled Briony in a hug. “How I’ve missed you so.”

“I missed you, too,” Briony said. This time, she tried to fight back her tears.

Cor cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if I’m ruining this reunion, but Your Highness, time is of the essence—you have to go now before the Empire blocks more roads.”

Briony pulled away. To Cor, she asked, “But what about you?”

“I still have to meet His Highness,” Cor said. _Of course,_ she thought worrily _._ With King Regis gone, Noctis had to assume the throne, and at this point, it was only Cor who was well-equipped to brief the crown prince on the state of affairs. Briony could not imagine the agony Noctis would have to bear upon learning he had lost his father...

“Marshal, if I may ask—” Crowe stepped in, one hand raised— “and Your Highness… where exactly do we need to go?”

“I need to awaken the Six, so that Noctis may fulfill his calling,” answered Luna. Her gentle smile had been replaced by a firm expression of resolve. “And to do that, we head for Angelgard.”

 

 

By the time they had left the Prairie Outpost, the rain had stopped that the roads were sullied with mud but glistened with water. Whiskey had joined Luna in the backseat and decided to sleep on top of a peacefully resting Pryna. Luna seemed unbothered when Whiskey had started talking; in fact, it even amused her to have met another Messenger the likes of Pryna and Umbra.

“Speaking of Umbra, why isn’t he with you?” asked Briony, turning from her seat.

“I had him deliver something to Noctis,” Luna said. It didn’t escape Briony’s eye how Luna smiled so warmly at the mention of his name.

“What’s this _something?”_ Crowe asked. “Uh, that’s if you don’t mind me asking, Your Highness—”

“No, it’s alright,” Luna said, shifting slightly away from the car window. “And please, Crowe—no need for the courtesies. You can call me Luna.”

“That’ll take some time to get used to, but okay.” Crowe grinned. “So, going back—what’s this _something_ you had delivered to the prince?”

“It’s always the notebook,” Briony teased. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, it is.” Luna smiled. It pleased Briony to see her old friend like this, blushing at the subject of her budding romance.

Crowe hummed. “What kind of notebook? Is this the kinky kind—”

“Oh gods, Crowe!” Briony slapped her arm, aghast but nevertheless amused. Turning again to Luna, she said, “I’m sorry about her, sometimes she can say the most ridiculous things without warning.”

Crowe shrugged and made a face at Briony. Luna, however, didn’t seem to mind at all. She only kept a delighted smile on her face. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I… actually appreciate this. I rarely talk to anyone like this, so it’s quite nice to be reminded of how normal it feels like,” said Luna. “And Crowe, I’m sorry to disappoint, but it’s nothing like that.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Your Highne—I mean, _Luna._ See, I told you it’ll take time to get used to,” said Crowe. “By the way—congrats on your engagement with the prince.”

“Oh, thank you,” Luna said. “But I… I don’t think it should be worth noting, really. It is, after all, simply an arranged marriage—”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Briony said. “I see the way you talk about Noct. It’s quite obvious that you like him.”

“You sure you don’t want us to call him for you?” Crowe suggested. “You know, Briony has his number and—”

“No, there’s no need. I…” Luna hesitated. She pressed her palms against her white dress as she said, “We had agreed to keep our correspondences through Umbra. Noctis knew it was safer that way. And as much as I want to call him, it would only put him at risk. The Empire is always following me wherever I go. I can’t put him in danger.”

The three of them were silent for a moment. Then, Crowe—smiling widely and so earnestly at Luna through the rear-view mirror—said, “Now that’s what I call love.”

The rest of the drive was enjoyed in a comfortable silence. They rolled past the dusty fields, past the canyon roads, past the sun-baked wilderness, until they have arrived to the stunning seaside of Galdin Quay. Crowe and Briony were surprised that Luna preferred a more humble accommodation rather than staying at the hotel by the beach, so as not to attract attention from the crowds—which obviously made sense if they wanted to remain incognito. Crowe considered staying at the caravan, but Briony was loath to let Luna stay in such a seedy arrangement. Besides, they were well-equipped with camping gear, all thanks to Cindy. And so, with the sight of the pristine white sand and the shimmering blue of the ocean, the girls reached a decision and collectively agreed to go camping by the haven just a few ways north of the resort and a couple of strides away from the shore.

As Crowe marched off to gather some intel from the local tipster, Briony and Luna decided to stay to set up camp. Meanwhile, their two celestial companions were busy frolicking by the beach. Over the horizon, the sun was beginning to paint the sky aflame. Though this view was beautiful by its own right, it still paled in comparison to the sights Briony had seen in Galahd. The memory of it only made her heart swell with the thought of Nyx.

“Before I forget—” Luna started as she was adjusting her side of the tent (which, in all honesty, Briony found jarring because this was Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, the Oracle and Former Princess of Tenebrae, pitching a fucking tent)— “I have to offer you my congratulations. I heard you, too, were recently engaged.”

“Oh. Um, yes. Thank you.” Briony paused for a moment to fix the stake on her corner. “I heard from Nyx that you two had met.”

“Yes, but quite briefly,” Luna said. “He cannot stop talking about you.”

Briony smiled. “He’s pretty talkative. And also a handful.”

“That’s funny—he said the exact same thing about you.” They both laughed. Luna stood up as they both secured the last couple of poles and attachments until everything was in order. “There, I think this is all set don’t you think?”

“It is.” Briony beamed at their handiwork, one she was sure would make Gladio run for his money. She gave Luna a delighted grin. “You know, I can’t believe you know how to do this.”

“Well, I’ve read books about them,” Luna said. “Never quite thought I’d ever put it into good use.”

When Crowe had returned, Briony and Luna had already set up the folding chairs, too, along with the campfire with Whiskey’s help. Pryna, on the other hand, had retreated inside the tent.

“Wow, now I feel bad for not getting any helpful info ‘cause you guys did all of _this,”_ Crowe said, sinking on one of the folding chairs.

“Why? What happened?” Luna asked. She took the seat beside Crowe.

Crowe sighed. “Well, as it turns out, there’s no boat that would take us to Angelgard. No one has ever dared to go to _that_ island. A lot of rumours about shipwrecks running along with the mercenaries, and those who were reckless enough to set sail never even return.”

“Okay, that’s pretty dark,” Briony said grimly. To Luna, she asked, “Who among the gods is in Angelgard, anyway? Or is it all of them?”

“Only the Stormsender,” said Luna. “Gentiana did mention that finding a way to Angelgard would be difficult, and that I would require the help of another Messenger.”

Crowe and Briony traded knowing glances. Even Whiskey perked up, who had been loafing lazily by the fire.

“I think I know who you’re looking for, Lady Lunafreya,” Whiskey said, trotting towards Luna and hopping on her lap. “He’s got to be around here somewhere—”

“Well, look no further,” said a rumbling voice out of nowhere. Luna rose from her seat out of surprise; Briony and Crowe instinctively summoned their weapons, ever watchful and vigilant.

As it turned out, it was only Maxx. In the dark, his hulking height seemed even more menacing. His slightly tattered Hunter’s garb was not even helping with his image.

“And there he is,” Whiskey casually announced. To Maxx, she said, “That was quick of you, I must say.”

“You underestimate my lighting speed, you cat,” Maxx said, all smug. “Anyway—” in big strides, he marched over to Luna, reached for her hand, and pressed a quick kiss— “it is a pleasure to finally meet the Oracle. My name is Maxx, sworn to the Stormsender.”

“I, uh… a pleasure to meet you, too.” Luna said as politely as she could, even though it was still evident on her face that the sudden appearance of Maxx had stunned her.

“I understand that you have a very important business with my lord. But this time, there’s one other thing I have to address,” Maxx said, turning to look at Briony. This time, his expression had turned grave. He hesitated for a moment, as if unable to shape the next thing he was about to say.

Briony narrowed her eyes at him. "Maxx, you're being strange—"

“Something happened.”

As soon as he said it, Briony knew, with a sinking wail of grief, that it was about Nyx.

“No,” she said calmly. She was trying to keep it together, willing some force that this was just a dream and anytime, she would wake up.

“Ronnie, Nyx made a bargain with the Lucii,” Maxx explained as gently as he could. “It was the city at the cost of his own—”

“No,” she said again, shaking her head. “This is not a good joke, Maxx. I swear, if you—”

“Ronnie, I’m not kidding. I wish I was.” Maxx was so close to tears. “But there was nothing I could do. I’m so sorry.”

The silence that followed was heavy with a sickening sorrow. No one spoke a word. They all stared at Briony as if they were waiting for her to break. But there were no tears coming out of her. Instead, she went to the beach and marched all the way to the secluded fishing spot at the far end. She tried calling Nyx’s phone. Again and again, she tried, but no answer. She listened to his earlier voicemails, but the one she kept listening over and over was the last one he sent:

_[Voicemail] Best glaive ever 1:15 AM Hi, Brie. I, uh… I’m sure you’re somewhere safe. I just want to let you know I love you. I will always love you, Briony._

Then, as if the sound of Nyx’s voice slowly returned the feeling to her numbed senses, she finally began to cry.

 

* * *

 

When she closed her eyes, all she could see was Nyx's face.

Even in her memory, his face was as clear as that bright sunny day in Galahd, almost gleaming, almost scintillating. In her head, by default, he would make the same face, the one etched and carved in the corners of her mind, like the ancient sculptures in the Citadel towering over the hallways she had memorized. It’s the very same face he always made when he tempted her into kissing him, lips curled into a smile, the little lines in the corner of his ocean blue eyes knitting together to pull her into his charm. To drown her in those loving eyes. Gods be good to her heart, that smile of his was enough to stop her from breathing. She was at his mercy, and it's so revoltingly stupid.

But Briony loved it. She loved _him._ She loved how she was so stupidly in love with Nyx.

But now, Nyx was gone. He would never be by her side, and he won’t be by her side tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after the next.

 

* * *

 

_1\. I’ll be fine_

_2\. I’ll be fine_

_3\. I’ll be fine_

_4\. I’ll be fine_

_5\. I’ll be fine_

_6. But why did you have to leave me though_

_7\. We had plans together_

_8\. I love you so much_

_9\. I love you, you stupid bastard_

_10\. I will always love you_

_10\. It's hard for me to count when all I want is for you to come back to me_

_10\. Please come back to me_

_10\. Because I will always love you_

_10\. I hate that I will always love you_

_10\. I hate that I love you so much it hurts_

_10. I hate that I won't ever see you again_

_10. Now how am I supposed to go on from this_ _  
_

_10\. Can anyone tell me how do I go on from this_

 


	29. Gladiolus Amicitia

When Gladio was a little boy, Clarus often brought him to the Citadel, not to teach him the ropes of the duty that lies ahead of him—gods know his mother objected the idea of involving Gladio in political affairs at a tender age of seven—but rather to have him acquainted with Noctis. Back then, Noctis had been a livelier brat; the two of them would often sneak out of the prince’s study quarters—much to Ignis’s chagrin—to watch both their fathers at work. They would creep into the secret staircase behind the Classic Literature section of the library, scurrying along a torchlit alley that led to a small window overlooking the audience chamber. Their young minds barely understood any of the discussions that took place, but Gladio didn’t care at all. There was just something about seeing his father standing side by side with the king that made his heart swell with enormous pride.

Clarus caught sight of them eventually. The boys were horrified that they thought they would be thoroughly punished right after that council meeting. But Clarus discreetly smiled at them and shot them a wink, as if a wicked secret had been shared in confidence. Then, he returned his attention to the ruling council, the tiny distraction not once betraying his courtly composure.

After that meeting, Gladio sat down with his father in his office to apologize. “I’m sorry if I had been spying,” he had said. “I only want to watch you, Dad, ‘cause when I grow up I wanna be like you.”

Clarus fondly smiled at Gladio. “C’mere, you.” He took the young boy in his lap, pressed a kiss on the crown of his head and said, “You wanna know a secret?”

Gladio nodded.

“There’s something better than being _like_ me, son.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” Clarus beamed earnestly. “The best thing you will ever grow up to be is to be simply _yourself.”_

At the time, Gladio never quite understood what it all meant. Who wouldn’t want to be like his old man? At an early age, Gladio had already put his father on a pedestal and tried to emulate him in everything he did. Because who wouldn’t? Clarus was a bold warrior and an even bolder advisor, carrying himself with a thrilling air of tenacity befitting a Shield of the King: the dignified way he stood in council meetings, his modulated voice every time he spoke to his peers, his confident strides as if he were parting the sea. Gladio had enshrined this image of Clarus as the kind of man he would always look up to, the kind of man he always wanted to be. He doesn’t say it often, but he truly admired his father a great deal, and he loved him most dearly.

So when Gladio heard from Iris the news of their father’s death—the beaming smile on her face that welcomed them to the Leville withering into an unnerving emptiness—the first thing he did was not to cry. Because the first thing he wanted to do was the impossible. He wanted to turn back time. Because if he could, he would run back to his father’s office and tell him, _“Hey Dad, I love you so much and you will always be my role model,”_ instead of a lousy,  _“See ya around, don’t let the Niffs get the better of your temper.”_ If he could, he would probably stay in the Citadel a little longer, fight by his side until they rid the entire city of the MTs and killed every fucking Imperial soldier who dared destroy their home.

But none of that matters now.

Because as Gladio listened to Iris cracking into sobs as she recounted what had happened, he held his chin up. His fists clenched around the armrest of his seat. The hurt did not arrive justyet, but he could see it in the horizon. He could hear it in his head, in his father’s voice saying that one thing he always told him when he was younger.

_The best thing you will ever grow up to be is to be simply yourself._

And then came the knife’s twist. The sudden bite of absence. The violent rush of reality that he would no longer hear his father's sage counsel, that he would no longer get to tell his father how much he loved him. The pain slowly unraveled, the despair spreading in his body like wildfire. It caught his tongue and denied him of speech.

It was in his sister’s embrace that he finally shattered into tears.

 

 

That evening, Gladio couldn’t sleep. Despite being afforded with a decent hotel room in the Leville after the last couple of days spent in the wilderness, his grief and restlessness kept his eyes peeled awake. For the past hour, he had been watching his friends as they sleep: Noctis and Ignis were sleeping soundly on the adjacent bed, while Prompto was clumsily sprawled on the couch, one arm dangling on the side. Sleepless nights like these, he would normally get himself a stiff drink, or better yet, give Ronnie a call…

A spike of panic seized his chest. Gladio hauled himself out of bed and hurried out to the balcony, dialing Ronnie’s number in a fevered frenzy. If he had lost her, too, gods know this time he would absolutely lose his fucking mind.

The phone rang once, twice, thrice. Four times, five more. _Please pick up, pick up, pick up_ —

A beep, a muffled noise, and then: “Gladio?”

The voice was hoarse and gravelly like she had been crying, but there was no mistaking it. It was Ronnie.

“Hi,” he said, exhaling a breath of relief. “I’m… so glad to hear from you. I didn’t happen to wake you, did I?”

 _“Since when are you worried if you ever woke me up?”_ Ronnie said dryly. He could hear the rustle of her breaths on the other line, a weary inhale. _“Your timing is perfect, actually. I couldn’t sleep.”_

“Me neither.”

_“How are things with you? How’s everybody?”_

“The boys are fine. We’re in Lestallum right now. Iris and Jared and Talcott’s here, too.”

_“That’s great. Have you heard from your dad?”_

There followed a painful pause. Gladio mined the words out of his mouth, as if by saying it out loud he would cement the finality of his father’s death. “He… uh, he didn’t make it out of the Citadel.”

 _“I’m so sorry, Gladio. I’m really, really sorry.”_ Something in the sound of her voice cracked heavy with anguish that Gladio could feel a new wave of tears filling his eyes. Another silence. Then, she said: _“How are you holding up?”_

“Getting by,” Gladio croaked. He fixed his gaze at the bright, bustling streets below. It was already halfway to midnight, but the evening still crackled with chatter of women and merchants milling past. The cold breeze carried the smell of smoke and curry. “I feel like shit. And I feel furious that I have no idea what to do.”

_“Tell me about it.”_

Gladio leaned against the railing. “Why? What’s up?”

 _“Nothing, it’s just… well,”_ Ronnie said uncertainly. _“Just currently on a classified escort mission.”_

“Ronnie.”

_“What?”_

“You sound weird.” Gladio rubbed his temple. “Is Nyx with you?”

Ronnie didn’t answer. The silence seemed so long and brutally endless that all Gladio could hear on the other line was her unsteady breath.

“Hey,” Gladio said, “is there something—”

 _“He’s not with me,”_ Ronnie said. Her voice sounded so hollow and empty. _“He didn’t make it, either.”_

Gladio squeezed his eyes shut. _Gods. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._ First, King Regis, then his father, and now Nyx. _How many more people did the Empire take out of our lives?_

“Ronnie, I’m so sorry…” He paced back and forth, trying his best not to smash any nearby object to pieces. Out of habit, the first thing he asked her was: “Where are you?”

Gladio was already unfolding the map from his shirt pocket, studying the area, when Ronnie hoarsely said, _“Here in Cauthess. Coernix Station. Why?”_

“That’s a manageable drive from here—”

 _“Gladio, you don’t need to come here,”_ Ronnie insisted. _“I promise, I’ll be fine.”_

“Are you sure?”

 _“Of course I’m not.”_ Ronnie struggled to keep her voice firm. _“But I’m going to try.”_

When they both hung up, Gladio stood there in silence. The wind whistled along with the bursting cackle from the plaza. A breathless minute never had the chance to stretch into another. Steered by the sting of fury and a maddening haste, his feet were moving on its own, his body hurled out of the hotel room. He raced down the steps of Lestallum’s main thoroughfare and onto the nearest car rental in the city. The clerk eyed him fearfully, but Gladio was too drawn in his own worries to pay anyone the slightest bit of attention. Fuck what they say about the daemons appearing at night. As soon as he was handed the key to a rusty red Mustang parked outside the shop, he immediately got in, started the engine, and sped through the empty road.

Ever since they were children, Gladio was well-versed with how Ronnie dealt with her bad days. Back in eighth grade, when she said, _“I’ll be fine”_ after a girl in their class called her “ugly eyes” and “fat freckled girl,” _being fine_ had meant starving herself for a week. Gladio had to ask Jared to cook all her favourite meals just to coax her back to eating. Back in high school, when she said, _“I’m going to try to be okay”_ after a boy told her that he didn’t really like her, that the only reason he asked her out for prom was out of a bet with the jocks, _trying to be okay_ had meant shutting herself off for weeks, not speaking a word to anyone else. Best believe Gladio beat the shit out of that boy that cost him a week in detention, but he was cool with it. No one fucks up with his best friend and gets away without a souvenir.

But this was worse than a bad day. Gladio hoped he could beat the shit out of this day. Not just to quell his own misery, but for Ronnie, too. Gods, she had already suffered _enough._ She had lost her home and her mother. The last thing she needed was losing the love of her life.

As Gladio saw the blinding beam of floodlights opposite the daunting stone formations, the rows of parked cars across the street, and the flickering _Coernix_ neon sign, he finally pulled over by the petrol station. There were still a handful of hunters hanging out around the weapons shop. Some were lounging by the food joint. But Gladio could not miss the face sitting by the table in front of the caravan, staring out into the open road as if the world had stopped moving.

“Is this seat taken?” Gladio said by way of greeting.

But Ronnie said nothing. She didn’t even bother looking up. Even in this light, Gladio could see how empty and swollen her eyes were and how brittle she looked, as if one more word of tragedy and she would shatter.

Gladio knelt in front of her. “Hey, Ronnie.”

Finally, her eyes met his. Then, she said, “You look like shit.”

Gladio huffed a weary laugh. “I could say the same with you.”

“Yeah, we both look like shit.” Ronnie forced a smile, but Gladio saw how her lips quivered. Or how her face could no longer keep a moment’s relief without the slightest tremble. But before he could say anything, she threw her arms around him, the smallness of her body wrapping him in an embrace. Gladio hugged her tighter, that when she started saying, “You’ll be fine, your dad’s going to be so proud of you,” he knew there was no need for him to hold on to his defenses. There was no more need for the barriers, no more need to put on a brave face. This time, he let his tears rinse away his grief as he cried on her shoulder, and as she cried in his.

 

 

Gladio managed to return to Lestallum before the crack of dawn. Having spent the entire evening talking to Ronnie and trading their sorrows over cheap cans of Ebony, the two had completely abandoned the thought of sleep. It was only when he arrived at the Leville that his weariness was slowly creeping up on him.

However, as he entered the hotel lobby, two familiar faces caught his attention by the reception.

“Adrika? Avani?” Gladio approached them, relieved to see that they, too, made it out of Insomnia.

“There goes our Shield,” said Adrika, looking bright in her usual plain white shirt and tattered jeans.

Meanwhile, Avani—looking nothing less comfortable in a brown sweatshirt and khaki pants—offered Gladio a kind smile. “It’s nice to see you’ve made it safely here, Gladio.”

“Likewise.” Gladio wanted to ask them what had become of Varma’s, but decided against it. He could not help but mourn for their gem of a shop—along with the many other losses that seemed to keep on coming their way—in the aftermath of the Empire’s invasion. “Anyway—” Gladio rubbed his stubbled jaw, stopping himself from yawning and forcing his eyes to stay awake— ”what brings the both of you here?”

“Glad you asked.” Adrika beamed, resting her hands on her waist. “We’re actually here for you.”

Gladio was startled. “Me? But why? Is this about my tab and the expensive bottle of vodka? Because if it’s about that—”

“No, it’s not that, my friend.” Avani clasped Gladio’s shoulder. _Has he always been this strong?_ There was no threat in the gesture, that much was true; Avani was shy and lanky for his own good, but there was something about the firm grip of his hand that exuded terrifying strength. Amiably, Avani said, “My sister has not forgotten your debt, that I can assure you, but we are not here for that.”

“We’ll discuss that some other time.” Adrika smiled at Gladio, her blood-red lips curling in amusement. “Though I have to say, brother, I am pleased to know that Clarus did keep his word about keeping us secret.”

The mention of his father’s name had Gladio bristling with tension. “What’s my father have to do with this?”

“Everything and nothing,” Adrika said vaguely. The twins exchanged knowing glances.

“Forgive my sister for giving such an indirect response to your question—” Avani added, eyeing his sister sharply— “but we have been at the employ of many a Shield of the King for thousands of years.”

 _“Thousands_ of years?” Gladio stared at them defiantly as if they were purposely playing him for a fool. Then, dumbstruck by a sudden recollection of what Ronnie had told him about Messengers, he stammered, “Wait, you can’t be both—”

“Very old? Yes. Too old for you, my boy.” Adrika said teasingly. Looking back at Avani, she said, “There, brother. As straightforward as I could get. Would you also like for us to impart a demonstration of our abilities?”

Avani shook his head. “Again, please forgive my sister,” he quietly told a still confused Gladio. “But to relieve you of your doubts, we are not enemies—we are allies. We’re Messengers of the Archaean. Trouble’s afoot for your king, my new Shield. It would be best if we take a walk and have a little chat elsewhere, yes?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am slowly sailing away from all the feels and into a more action-packed arc leading to the ten-year time skip, but first, a couple of ramblings:  
> 1\. I guess it should be worth noting that this chapter was mostly born out of my frustration from the game, how I was deprived of seeing the Amicitia sibs mourning for Clarus, because why Square? WHY?  
> 2\. Completely unrelated but I found a nice OC template c/o [translunaer](http://translunaer.tumblr.com/post/167290076980/character-psd-012-i-am-back-with-a-thing), which is why I made a _thing_ for my Messenger OCs to sum up their shenanigans: [Candela](http://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com/post/182108992043/messengers-of-the-six-candela-clark-circe), [Johanna](http://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com/post/182109956018/messengers-of-the-six-johanna-valens-minerva), [Whiskey](http://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com/post/182127417943/messengers-of-the-six-whiskey-hestia-messenger), and  
> [Maxx](http://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com/post/182138089353/messengers-of-the-six-maxwell-tarrant-haikili). I have yet to add Marlowe and this troublesome twins to this because, well. What is time. lmao
> 
> Anyway, I can't believe I'm about to hit chapter 30 of this long fic. Thank you so much for sticking around this ride, really. You guys are the real champs for putting up with me and this story.

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in between the pre-Kingsglaive and post-departure timeline, this is my attempt on writing a long-ass multi-chapter fic _ever_ , and also to give myself a chance to explore perspectives of different characters corresponding to the dynamic of their respective relationships. So, uh, please be kind, I guess? Haha. And I’ve always had this story in my head but was hesitant to put it out there because this OC is carved right out of my soul–and that is enough to make me nervous, lmao. Also, despite the change to third person POV, this is loosely connected to Thermodynamics and is collectively part of an intended series I have in mind, which is The Science of Us. So, in case you want to get a peek on Briony’s childhood (which will still be explored through the course of the chapters), [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12136287/chapters/27530592) should be a nice place to start. So. Fair warning: this is mostly a slice of real life sprinkled with a slow burn romance, dashed with the saltiest angst, and baked around FFXV’s in-game lore and history. :)
> 
> ETA, 8/18/2018: In which I clarify that the timeline of this story also covers the 10-year timeskip.


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